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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085562">lemonade roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyspines/pseuds/dustyspines'>dustyspines</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne &amp; Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Break Up, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:35:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyspines/pseuds/dustyspines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>By some calamitous twist of fate, Albus Potter finds himself faced with the realisation that he’s not okay; his sleep has been hijacked by vivid nightmares detailing the night his life fell apart on the Quidditch pitch, his sense of self is slipping away as he drowns in a sea of expectations, and his relationships begin to fracture when the vicious ghost of inevitability snaps at his heels. The solution should be simple: break up with Scorpius Malfoy. But this is Albus Potter, and nothing in his life has ever been simple, so why should that change now?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Scorbus Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the hard call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thank you to the mods for organising this fest - this is my first year participating and it has been so fun to work on this piece. also thank you to my friend &amp; beta, L, for reminding me to calm down with the metaphors and for being as passionate about this fic as i am. </p><p>i'll be posting the chapters every other day this week (24th, 26th &amp; 28th) - i hope you enjoy lemonade roses; i'm very excited to read everything everyone posts for the fest &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>That is what’s so difficult <br/>about making the decision to leave, <br/>whether it’s the right or wrong call, <br/>the hurt is just the same.<br/></em>- Beau Taplin,<em> The Hard Call.</em></p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus Potter has the extraordinary misfortune of being helplessly in love with Scorpius Malfoy. He wouldn’t consider himself to be a romantic individual – he’s never poured words of adoration into a journal or ever found himself drawn to a particular celebrity crush in his youth – which, perhaps, explains why he never thought love would hurt as much as it does right now.</p><p>Not necessarily in an entirely negative way. Just in an all-encompassing, suffocating kind of way where he wishes for the impossible ability to give Scorpius the world. Sometimes he will look at him during breakfast, Scorpius’ fingertip dragging over the obituary section in the <em>Prophet</em> he gets delivered every morning, and his heart will hurt as he drinks in the very being that is this endlessly beautiful boy. The hunch of his shoulders when he comes across a name he recognises. The delicacy with which he brushes some fine strands of sun-kissed hair from his forehead, detangling them from where they slip between his eyelashes as he reads. Scorpius is radiant in excruciatingly quiet ways, and it <em>hurts</em> to watch him sometimes.</p><p>It hurts when Albus traces his fingers over the white vine scars inflicted by Delphi’s Fulgari curse that cover Scorpius’ forearms. Hurts when he notices Scorpius’ energy waning and the reappearance of his limp he developed after being caught by the Cruciatus Curse. Hurts when he walks up behind Scorpius in the library and touches his shoulder only for Scorpius to flinch. The quiet apologies of <em>I’m so sorry you didn’t scare me it’s just my fault I didn’t realise it was you I’m so sorry I’m so sorry. </em></p><p>Love can be wonderful, of course. The glances across classrooms and the kisses outside the Three Broomsticks and the laughter during their games of chess. Holidays spent with each other, bathing in the incandescent sunshine in the gardens of the Manor or exchanging intense gazes and harbouring tugged lips between teeth as they play Muggle Monopoly at the Burrow during Christmas time.</p><p>It is equal parts wonderful and hurtful. For every flickering moment of pure elation there is a shudder of pain that surges through the atmosphere somehow; some unspoken reminder that these moments are finite, that they are, at the end of the day, only two broken and cracked half versions of human beings clinging on to each other for dear life. For every smile they exchange, there will be hundreds of tears. For every sweet confession of love, there is a burrowed insecurity of what <em>if</em> that follows their relationship.</p><p>Albus Potter has the incredible misfortune of being helplessly in love with Scorpius Malfoy, but he wouldn’t change any of it for the world.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Scorpius sits opposite him on the train. His fingers tease the corner of a page from the book he is reading, a vintage poetry collection from Astoria’s personal library, peacock feather bookmark tucked behind the back cover while he reads.</p><p>Albus merely watches him; he sits with his back against the wall, shoes off and legs kicked up on the cushion, drinking in the way Scorpius looks when he reads. The way he bites gently on his tongue in concentration, his index finger underlining each word as he drags it across the paper to aid his reading. Scorpius occasionally grabs the pencil balanced behind his ear and circles a word or two, scribbling down a few annotations in the empty space of the margin. His sleeves – royal navy and knitted, part of an exquisite jumper Scorpius’ aunt had brought back from Italy one summer – are pushed up to the bend in his elbow; Albus would quite like to rest in the crook of his arm right now, for it seems like the safest place in the entire world.</p><p>“Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower,” Scorpius reads aloud. “We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.”</p><p>Albus watches as Scorpius draws a light line underneath the words. “That’s a bit deep, isn’t it?”</p><p>Scorpius’ mouth curves into a smile. He looks up at Albus, and their eyes meet. “Very deep,” he says, tucking the feather in to mark the page before setting the book to his side and moving over to the seat next to Albus instead. “I thought those poems were all going to be soppy and mushy and make me wish I could’ve lived in the Romantic period, but I was clearly very misguided.”</p><p>“Even though I wouldn’t have been there?” Albus asks.</p><p>Scorpius rolls his eyes. He takes Albus’ hand in his own, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’d only go if you were with me, obviously.”</p><p>“Such a shame there <em>actually</em> aren’t any time turners left, otherwise we could go back and attempt a trial run, or something.” Albus grins.</p><p>“Merlin, can you imagine if the time travel went wrong, though?” Scorpius grimaces. “Surely travelling back over two hundred years would cause some sort of physical damage, right?”</p><p>Albus smiles. “You appear in the middle of a field in the Yorkshire countryside and realise you only have seven fingers, or something.”</p><p>“Wrinkles all over your face, too.”</p><p>“I’d still dig you,” Albus shrugs, gently kissing the corner of Scorpius’ mouth. “I’m sure you’d still be as astonishingly attract–”</p><p>“Absolutely <em>not</em>, shut up,” Scorpius squirms in his seat, a delicate blush blooming over his cheeks. Albus finds himself shuffling closer, his legs now crossed underneath him as to minimise the distance between them. “Also, can I officially veto ‘dig you’ as a pickup line? It makes you sound like you’re trying to be some Ilvermorny jock who has all the girls <em>lusting</em> over him.”</p><p>Albus kisses him; hands holding onto Scorpius' cheeks, breathing in his cologne, <em>properly</em> kisses him. “So my super cheesy, super cliché American impressions don’t do anything for you?”</p><p>“Well, I mean,” Scorpius rolls his eyes. He presses their fingertips together, then their palms, then holds both of Albus’ hands at once. “It’s you, so it’s always doing <em>some</em>thing for me.”</p><p>Albus grins, a lop-sided smile with one perfect crescent-moon dimple appearing in his cheek. “That’s fascinating information.”</p><p>“Okay, shut up right now. You’ll make me go all shy.”</p><p>“I <em>love</em> when you go all shy.”</p><p>Scorpius kisses him. “Stop,” he chuckles, bumping their noses together. “I love you, but stop. Also, I have to go see the other prefects now.”</p><p>Albus frowns. “So you’re leaving me.”</p><p>Scorpius rolls his eyes again. “I’m sure you’ll cope without me.”</p><p>“I disagree.”</p><p>“Stop being dramatic.”</p><p>Albus wraps his arms around Scorpius’ neck and kisses him again. Years later and it doesn’t get old, being able to do all <em>this</em>. Albus doesn’t think it’ll ever get old. “Okay,” he sighs, overly dramatic. “I’ll meet you at the Feast then.”</p><p>“Love you.” Scorpius says.</p><p>Albus playfully shoves him to the door. “I love you,” he smiles. “Go.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>The familiar mass of candles hover ten feet above them in the Great Hall, the banners hung from pillar to pillar, the charmed starry expanse over their heads cloudless and coloured deep navy. Albus leans back against Scorpius as they watch the sorting, one of Scorpius’ arms wrapped around him and holding tightly onto his hipbone.</p><p>Albus looks at the First Year students with an expression of wonderstruck bewilderment. So tiny – some barely reaching waist height against the deputy headmistress – and so amazed with their chins tilted upwards and their eyes glued onto every magnificent thing they can see. He vaguely remembers being so overwhelmed while being walked into the hall under the watchful gazes of other students and teachers. On his walk to the back end of the room, Albus had looked to James, who simply winked and gave him a reassuring thumbs up. Then the unravelling of his life occurred mere moments later, and the rest is history.</p><p>While Albus recalls the feelings of coming into Hogwarts for the first time, he struggles to remember being so <em>small</em> and futile. The days of his gangly limbs he hadn’t quite grown into and his acne-speckled face seem light years away, as if the person who sits at the table now, embarking on his final voyage at this school, isn’t the same one who stood there all that time ago. Albus wishes he could ask a First Year what they think they’ll be doing in six years’ time, desperate to know the vague outline they have created for their life.</p><p>If someone had asked Albus at that moment he would’ve said something along the lines of this: sorted into Gryffindor, living alongside my brother and cousin and younger sister when she finally joins us. I’ll be average in class, and will bound from room to room with a group of friends who like me for me, not for my name and lineage. Maybe I’ll make the Quidditch team? I’ll be the happiest I’ve ever been, and I’ll finally understand what all the Hogwarts fuss is about.</p><p>He wouldn’t have predicted <em>any</em> of the events that actually ended up occurring during his timeline at the school.</p><p>(Scorpius kisses his shoulder; Albus <em>definitely</em> wouldn’t have thought anything of that sort would happen to him.)</p><p>The sorting ends in the blink of an eye, a few new Slytherin students joining the mix and sitting at the edge of the table gazing at each other with wistful expressions and shaking hands. <em>Oh</em>, Albus thinks, to relive the pressure of knowing everyone will expect you and the rest of your dorm mates to become best friends.</p><p>“I’m gonna go say hey to the first years,” Scorpius says, lightly kissing Albus’ cheek. “Properly introduce myself, and all that. I should be back before the Feast ends.”</p><p>Albus nods. “Okay, that’s cool,” he says, taking a napkin to Scorpius’ cheek, wiping away some chocolate sauce smeared over his skin. “Am I allowed to wait and walk with you when you lead them to the common room, or…?”</p><p>“Of course you can,” Scorpius smiles, gently ruffling up Albus’ hair. “I’d be upset if you didn’t wait.”</p><p>Albus smiles. “Great,” he says, kissing Scorpius’ hand before letting him go. “See you later.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus lingers at the entryway to the Great Hall, waving at the occasional person who greets him as they walk by. A gaggle of Gryffindors ogle at him as they are led out the Hall, followed by Lily who rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him.</p><p>“This way, guys,” Scorpius’ voice appears, a sweet song amongst the scuffling of shoes leading off in every direction to the four different common rooms. “Down to the dungeons. Hey, you.” He smiles when he comes to Albus’ side, gently knocking their hands together as Albus joins the parade down the stairs.</p><p>He wants to kiss Scorpius’ cheek or something, but figures it would be against his better judgement to do so in the presence of a bunch of eleven-year-olds probably already very overwhelmed as it is. Most of them keep glancing between Scorpius and Albus, mouths slight agape, while others take in the large stained glass windows or the suits of armour lining every single hallway.</p><p>“Are you Albus?”</p><p>Albus looks at the source of the voice; a mid-height, freckled kid, deep caramel eyes wide as he looks at Albus, sleeves of his robes ever so slightly too long. He smiles at him. “Yeah, I am. Albus,” he says, holding his hand out to shake the First Year’s own. “What’s your name?”</p><p>“Damien,” he says, staring at his palm when Albus lets him go. “Your mum is <em>so</em> cool.”</p><p>Albus blinks a couple of times. “My… mum?” He questions.</p><p>“Yeah!” Damien says, walking suddenly with a spring in his step, as if all his nerves have washed off him. “My dad is a season ticket holder for the Harpies. He has all these photos of her and the team from their best games. She was such a good player.”</p><p>Albus can’t help but smile. “That’s amazing,” he says. Scorpius knocks their hands together again. “I’ll be sure to pass it on to her that she still has a bunch of fans.”</p><p>“So you’re into Quidditch, huh?” Scorpius asks.</p><p>Damien gapes again, bewildered by his success at commandeering the recognition of<em> both</em> Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy. “I love it!”</p><p>“Good job you’re a Slytherin, then,” Scorpius smiles, stopping as they get to the entrance to the common room. “We always win the Cup.”</p><p>Damien <em>grins</em>. Albus beams. Scorpius brushes off the attention, switching immediately back to Head Boy mode. Who would’ve thought, Albus muses. One of them Head Boy, the other one smiling when someone talks to him about his family. Albus is pretty proud of them; he thinks they’re doing just fine.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Where in Merlin’s name were <em>you</em> yesterday!”</p><p>Albus winces as Polly Chapman flings herself onto his back, her purple-painted lips pressed to his cheek and braided blonde hair swatting him in the face. He reaches up just in time to hold onto her legs, supporting her as he walks into the Hall for breakfast.</p><p>“I was with my house, doing normal first evening things, Polly. Eating my food at the Slytherin table and then going to the Slytherin common room to sleep in my Slytherin dorm room?” Albus mocks.</p><p>Polly pinches his ear. “Don’t be pedantic,” she says, waiting until Albus gets to the mostly empty Gryffindor table before letting go of him and sitting down. “I meant on the train. You never came to say hi! Scorpius did, and you weren’t there. I was so upset, positively distraught the entire evening.”</p><p>“You’re so annoying, Pol,” Yann Fredericks sighs, holding out his fist for Albus as he sits opposite them at the table. “I wonder why on <em>earth</em> Albus didn’t come to say hi. You’re, like, so not dramatic.”</p><p>“I’ll break up with you, Fredericks.” Polly mutters.</p><p>Yann blows her a kiss. “In your dreams, Chapman,” he smiles, turning his attention to Albus. “Anyway, hey. Sleep well?”</p><p>“As well as expected,” Albus shrugs, popping a strawberry in his mouth. “The First Years literally wouldn’t settle down, though. I think some of them were still awake at three this morning. Scorp had to go downstairs and send them to bed at least five times.”</p><p>“Ah,” Yann smiles. “To be young and optimistic once again.”</p><p>Albus raises a glass of apple juice. “I’ll cheers to that.”</p><p>“You still haven’t answered my question,” Polly whines. She slips underneath the table, resurfacing on the other side so she can rest her head on Yann’s shoulder. “As to why you didn’t come say hello yesterday.”</p><p>Albus stares at her. She stares back. Albus blinks first; he knows from years of experience that nobody is going to beat Polly Chapman in a staring competition. “I was busy.”</p><p>“Doing what? It was a seven hour train journey.”</p><p>“You’re very invasive.”</p><p>Polly rolls her eyes, throwing a cherry stem at Albus. “It’s my job as your number one annoying friend to ask these kinds of questions,” she says. “Was it because of Scorpius? Were you two being inappro–?”</p><p>Albus flushes. “Oh, Merlin. Shut up.”</p><p>“What!” Polly bats her eyelashes, ignoring the sighs of Yann and Albus (and Karl Jenkins, who appears sleepily in the middle of the conversation). “You’re the one who got drunk that one time and started telling me all the details of when you and Scorpius–”</p><p>“Of when he and I what?”</p><p>Albus looks up. All of them do, actually. Four faces turning to stare at Scorpius with varying degrees of pleasure. Polly scowls at him, irritated that he interrupted her playful teasing of Albus. Meanwhile, Albus beams at him, gently tugging him down onto the seat next to him, kissing him on the cheek, holding onto his hand for dear life.</p><p>“Gone shy, has she?” Rose says, winking as she completes their group by taking a seat next to Albus. “You know, she goes on and on when nobody is around but the second the person she’s gossiping about appears she shuts right up.”</p><p>“I hate all of you,” Polly says, glaring at every single one of them except Yann. “Not you, though. You’re okay.”</p><p>Albus can’t help but smile. He adores their little unit, the way that six completely different personalities blend together in a perplexing yet, somehow, perfectly understandable way.</p><p>“So, what does everyone’s timetable look like?” Karl asks.</p><p>“Hell.” Scorpius and Rose say at the same time.</p><p>Yann snorts into his cup of tea. “What do you expect when you willingly take more classes than are compulsory?”</p><p>“Merlin, you two are feeling spicy this morning, aren’t you?” Albus directs his question at Yann and Polly, buttering two slices of toast. One for him, one for Scorpius.</p><p>Polly grins. “Yes, we are.”</p><p>They dissolve into a gentle rumble of conversation, the sleepiness evaporating from their voices as they drink sugar-filled juice and sprinkle cinnamon over their bowls of cereal. Albus rests his head on Scorpius’ shoulder, half-heartedly skimming over the headlines in the <em>Prophet</em> while Scorpius reads intently, dog-earing certain pages he intends to go back to later in the day. He kisses the curve of Scorpius’ jaw.</p><p>“You look really nice this morning.” Albus says, nudging his nose against Scorpius’ cheek.</p><p>Scorpius’ hand gently squeezes Albus’ kneecap. “Well, thank you. Considering you’re the only person I ever endeavour to impress, I’ll take that as a massive compliment.”</p><p>“You try and impress me every day?”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. “Are you saying you <em>don’t</em> try to impress me? Guess that makes sense of why you always steal your brother’s old clothes instead of wearing the things that actually fit you.”</p><p>“Are you saying you don’t like the things I wear?” Albus copies.</p><p>Scorpius smiles. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I love the things you wear, I think you look gorgeous every single day,” he says matter-of-factly, drumming his fingertips over Albus’ thigh. “I just also happen to like when you wear clothes that aren’t a couple of sizes too big. News flash, Al, I quite like looking at your body.”</p><p>“It’s too early for this.” Albus flushes.</p><p>“Okay, I’m convinced,” Polly interrupts from opposite the table, her eyes cutting right through Albus and Scorpius. “You two were one hundred percent being inappropriate on the train yesterday.”</p><p>“Po<em>lly</em>.” Someone groans. Another laughs. Albus doesn’t know who does what, all he knows is he playfully rolls his eyes and leans further into Scorpius’ side. He knows Scorpius kisses his temple. He knows he’s happy, so very happy. Albus wants to bottle the feeling and carry it around with him all day, like a vial of liquid luck, glittering gold in his pocket, reminding him that this type of happiness is possible for him. Something he never expected. Something he never wants to lose.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus finds himself tugged into an empty classroom on his way to the Great Hall for lunch, grimacing as he bumps into a suit of armour right inside the door. “Ouch, shit,” he says, jumping ever so slightly as he looks up and sees Scorpius. “What the <em>hell</em>, sugar?”</p><p>“Oh, Merlin. Did I hurt you?” Scorpius asks, his cool hands cupping Albus’ elbow. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“No, no. It’s fine,” he says, lifting himself onto his tiptoes to kiss Scorpius. “Why’re you camped out in an empty classroom?”</p><p>Scorpius hops onto a clean desk, gently pulling Albus between his legs. “Esme is supposedly giving a lecture to the whole team about her new tactics for the season, so I’m delaying getting there for as long as possible.”</p><p>“You know, it’s no surprise her favourite player is Wood,” Albus smiles, resting his hands on Scorpius’ knees. “Not like she totally copies his entire style of captaining a team, or anything.”</p><p>Scorpius grins. “I know, right,” he says. “So, anyway. I have crumpets and lemonade, and was hoping you would join me in here for lunch, instead?” He unveils two bottles of lemonade and a paper bag filled with, Albus assumes, the crumpets and butter.</p><p>“Ugh,” Albus groans, unscrewing the cap of his bottle of lemonade. “You’re disgracefully adorable, you know that?”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs one shoulder, summoning two paper plates to put the crumpets on. “I try my best.”</p><p>“How’ve today’s classes been so far?” Albus asks, quietly thanking Scorpius as he dishes out the food and folds a napkin into an origami heart.</p><p>“Busy,” Scorpius admits, his breath minty with lemony traces already appearing in the undercurrents. “Transfiguration is so hard, honestly. I’ve read all the books, and I even started doing some work before we came back, and it’s still a struggle. There’s just so much going on in my head, I think, that it’s hard to really focus on one subject at a time.”</p><p>Albus clinks their bottles together, presses their lips together, tries to be as close to Scorpius as he possibly can. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s all quite overwhelming, isn’t it?”</p><p>“You’re very correct.”</p><p>“Oh, well,” Albus shrugs. “At least you get to spend forty minutes with me.”</p><p>Scorpius beams. Honestly, his face erupts into a wide, wide grin. Smile lines carving into his face, eyes almost closed, head tilted slightly to the side. He looks like sunshine in human form. It makes Albus feel slightly ill, looking at someone so radiant.</p><p>“Exactly,” Scorpius says. “I mean, why would I ever want to go sit in the Hall being lectured about the aerodynamics of broomsticks when I could sit in a super small classroom, a pretty boy in front of me, drinking lemonade and trying to resist kissing him for the whole time?”</p><p>Albus gently flicks Scorpius’ nose. “I love this lemonade.”</p><p>“So do I,” Scorpius says, hooking his legs around Albus’ waist to keep him in place. “Anyway, did I tell you about the letter my dad sent the other day? About my Aunt?”</p><p>Albus shakes his head. He drinks his lemonade and picks at the crumpets while Scorpius dissolves into his story, hands expressively gesticulating his words. Albus nods when it’s required, offers sweet comments and gentle laughs when something particularly funny is said. He stares happily into Scorpius’ incandescent eyes; he thinks this entire set-up is an ode to their relationship, their effortless comfort and understanding. The ability to listen, to reciprocate, to understand. They are two twin flames flickering at the same time, melting the same candle. Albus struggles to make sense of the love he has for Scorpius Malfoy; he could wax lyrical about him, honestly. If he were a more romantic person, perhaps he would. But he’s content enough with this, just bathing in his presence and being granted the opportunity to listen to his voice for hours on end. That’s enough to fulfil him, at the end of the day.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Rose lets her head fall into her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook.</p><p>“Um,” Albus whispers, setting his quill down as he looks at her. “Are… you okay?”</p><p>Rose groans, her voice muffled by the paper. “Don’t tell anyone what I’m about to say.”</p><p>Albus tenses up. “Oh, um. Okay?”</p><p>Rose takes in a deep breath, straightening her back as she sits up again. “I literally don’t give a single fuck about the Patronus charm.”</p><p>Albus snickers into the back of his hand, avoiding the disapproving gaze of other students in the library.</p><p>“Like, Merlin. We don’t even have the chance to attempt to perform it in class, so why do I have to write a three foot essay on the history and importance of the charm?”</p><p>Albus shrugs. “Why do we have to write essays about any of this stuff when we’re never going to use it outside of school?” He asks, gesturing to the plethora of Herbology textbooks surrounding him. “I highly doubt I’ll need to know about Mandrake cross-breeding at any point in my life, but hey. I’m not the professional, so what do I know?”</p><p>Rose groans again, her head resuming its prior position in her textbook. “I really wish I’d taken Herbology instead of Ancient Runes. What I wouldn’t do to spend an hour in the greenhouse listening to Professor Longbottom instead of staring at a bunch of symbols pretending they make sense.”</p><p>“You sound so much like Scorpius.” Albus chuckles.</p><p>“Where even is he?” Rose asks, looking around the room as if there is any version of the world where Scorpius would be in the same room but wouldn’t be sat next to Albus.</p><p>Albus shrugs. “He’s tutoring a third year in the Hall, I think? This girl came up to him yesterday in the common room and asked if he could spare an hour.”</p><p>“He’s really piling on the work, isn’t he?” Rose muses. “All these classes, Quidditch, Head Boy…”</p><p>“I <em>know</em>,” Albus sighs, taking a sip from his bottle of water. “I keep telling him to take it easy, but he insists he’s being careful. I’ve just decided to let him do what he wants, and when he realises it’s too much I’ll just play along and be the supportive boyfriend.”</p><p>Rose smiles. “You’re much nicer than I’d be.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Rose throws a scrunched up piece of parchment at him. “Anyway,” she says, going back to her textbook. “Your dad hasn’t perchance mentioned anything about the Patronus charm to you at any point in your life, has he?”</p><p>“Rosie, both your parents can also cast a Patronus,” Albus says, doodling a love heart around the <em>A + S</em> he has drawn on his wrist. “Why’re you asking me?”</p><p>“Because your dad has been able to do it since he was, like, a child.”</p><p>“Bold of you to assume I listen to a word my dad says.”</p><p>Rose giggles. Albus laughs. Someone shushes them from the other side of the library, which only makes Albus laugh more. The two of them end up with their faces in their books, giggling to the words printed on the paper, the sound accenting the scratching of quills on parchment from everyone else sat around them. A wistful melody, a snapshot of happiness amongst a sea of stress. Albus used to hate being the odd one out; in occasions like this, though, he doesn’t mind it too much.</p><p>⚡</p><p>He looks incredibly pretty, Albus thinks. All baby blonde hair and tempestuous grey eyes and a snowstorm of freckles all over his cheeks. Sometimes he thinks that God, Merlin, <em>Dumbledore </em>or any other transcendental figure who watches over them took one look at Scorpius and decided to form him into a dot-to-dot puzzle where all the lines would join to create a masterpiece. The sharpness to his jaw but the softness of his cheeks. A downwards slant to his eyebrows perfectly balanced out by the eternally upturned corners of his lips as he smiles at <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>Or, Albus thinks, he may have had one too many glasses of Butterbeer.</p><p>Albus shakes his head and forces himself to focus on the conversation. Scattered around the wonky table in the Three Broomsticks sit an amalgamation of peculiar personalities who don’t really mesh but, somehow, have gravitated towards each other over the last couple of years.</p><p>Rose, his cousin, sits with her arms crossed on the table, fingertip encircling the rim of her glass, eyes stuck on whoever is speaking at any given time. Lily, the youngest of their group (who, really, only comes around so she can force Albus to buy her drinks after spending her entire allowance on chocolate frogs), picking off the remnants of her sunflower nail polish, occasionally looking up to laugh at a joke or sneer at someone completely deserving of it. Polly Chapman and Yann Fredericks, an enigmatic duo entangled in every sense of the word. Fingers always looped under the table. Sugar and spice, light and dark. Scarves wound tightly high up on their necks, collars dishevelled. A blurring boundary of friendship to <em>something </em>more to where they are now. Karl Jenkins – bright, fidgety, fitting in but always seeming to teeter on the edge of his chair, an air of uncertainty clouding his additions to the conversation. Scorpius Malfoy. Light of every single room, always. And Albus. Himself.</p><p>He has always felt the glances of other students looking at them whenever they pass by in the corridors, looks of intimidation and amazement. The ‘popular’ kids. The kids at the centre of every rumour circulating around the staircase chatter between lessons at Hogwarts. The helpless and the helpful. Ships anchored in the same bay, always afloat with each other to make sure one doesn’t get lost along the way.</p><p>“Professor McGonagall was fuming after that prank,” Rose is saying, idly breaking her gingerbread pumpkin cookie into smaller segments to chew at between sentences. “Honestly, I’m not sure what they were thinking? Who thinks charming the suits of armour to stab out at First Year students is ever going to be a good idea? That poor Tompkins kid is still in the Hospital Wing at the moment.”</p><p>“What’s happening to them, then?” Yann asks. “The ones who did it.”</p><p>“Expulsion, we think,” Scorpius interjects. He and Rose exchange a look, silently confirming whether or not these details can be shared with non-Head Boy and Girl students. “McGonagall is having the parents come in to talk about it, which is never a good sign. I just… can’t quite wrap my head around it.”</p><p>Albus finds himself staring out the window. October 12<sup>th</sup>. Seventh Year. Pumpkins scattered on the doorsteps of all the shops in Hogsmeade, some even charmed to outline the window displays. Ghost shaped bunting hangs around the doorframes. Copper coloured leaves flutter down the streets, catching in the gutters or tumbling down alleyways to be crushed under the vigorous gait of a wizard who is late for a meeting with his employer.</p><p>“I know I shouldn’t be one to berate people making silly choices,” Scorpius continues. A ripple of laughter follows his comment. “But… seriously? Trying to deliberately harm other students… it’s ridiculous.”</p><p>“They’re horrible people,” Lily’s melodic voice joins the conversation. She sits cross-legged on her stool stuffed between Rose and Scorpius’ chairs, a little tag along addition they made to allow them all to fit around the too-small table they have frequented since their Fifth Year. “Palmer and Flint… always have been. They try and hex the creatures in class sometimes when the professor isn’t looking. Always change the pumpkin juice to onion water during the feasts. I’m surprised it’s taken so long for them to get caught.”</p><p>A gentle kick to Albus’ shin draws him back to the conversation. He blinks a few times and looks up to meet Scorpius’ gaze. An inclined eyebrow – their silent way of asking <em>you okay? </em>– and a quiver of a smile. Albus rests the heels of his shoes on the laces of Scorpius’ trainers, wanting so desperately to reach out across the table to hold him properly. He mentally curses this seating arrangement they’ve maintained for years, something established in the period before the two of them became an <em>us</em> and still hovered above the ground as two solo pieces desperate to fold together into one.</p><p>“Well, at least they’re getting done for now. Hopefully they’ll be out the school walls before the Halloween Feast. Which, by the way, guys,” Rose speaks again, fingers brushing away a few cookie crumbs nestled in the corner of her lips. “McGonagall needs volunteers to carve pumpkins. Are any of you free the next couple of weekends?”</p><p>Albus zones out of the conversation. He stares at the puddle of foam at the bottom of his now-empty Butterbeer glass, imagining that the remains are tea leaves and that he can read his future in the shapes formed by the bubbles. Wonderful fortune, he thinks. Incredible, burning love that electrifies him. Joy and safety. Peace. Calm.</p><p>Scorpius knocks their shoes together below the table. Albus thinks he’s living the future right now.</p><p>⚡</p><p>The two of them sit on a staircase outside the Slytherin common room past curfew, glasses of lemonade balanced between their fingers. Scorpius sits one step higher than Albus, and Albus rests his chin on Scorpius’ knees, looking up at him through his lashes. The light from the lanterns paints Scorpius’ cheeks with gorgeous orange contours, sharp lines that highlight his complexion and illuminate him as the terrifyingly beautiful fire he has always been. Albus has always thought Scorpius is a Greengrass by day and a Malfoy by night. There is an edginess to his body that is only exposed by dim lighting and shadowy flashes that catch his profile at certain angles. Something hidden, something suppressed.</p><p>Scorpius is supposed to be on duty, patrolling the hallways to make sure there are no late night stragglers or love-sick fourth years sneaking off to the Lake to simmer under the bright, autumnal moon. But he rarely ever makes it out of the dungeons on these nights, with the two of them instead choosing to take advantage of the gifted levels of freedom Scorpius is permitted as Head Boy to sit and talk and listen and love. Particularly on nights that follow a day such as this, the two of them all but entirely separated by different classes and schedules, only spending a few moments at breakfast and lunch with each other before being whisked away to opposite sides of the castle.</p><p>“I feel like… what’s that phrase your Aunt always uses?” Scorpius questions, his fingertips brushing through Albus’ barely there curls and smoothing his parting to the side of his head. “I feel like I have my finger in too many pies. Is that it?”</p><p>Albus smiles. “That’s it.”</p><p>“Yeah. Too many pies,” Scorpius continues, pausing to sip at his lemonade. The sticky residue on his lips glistens under the lantern light; Albus resists leaning up to kiss him. “Head Boy duties are much more intense than I expected. And NEWT classes are just… so much harder, which you know. Adding in Quidditch practice, too. I’m regretting picking seven classes. It’s just so intense.”</p><p>Albus rubs circles over Scorpius’ kneecap, his finger catching on the tears in his jeans. “But you’re managing all the work, right? You seem to be getting your essays done on time. Reading seems all okay?”</p><p>“I mean, yeah. That’s not it, though,” Scorpius murmurs. “I feel like I never get to see <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Albus is grateful for the shadows and the night time darkness hiding his flushed cheeks. “Don’t be doing that,” he says. “You see me plenty. I mean, you’re seeing me right now, Scorp.”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. He releases his fingers from Albus’ hair and instead twines them with Albus’ own, Scorpius’ lips pressing kisses between his knuckles. “Oh, fun. One night out of seven. Come on, Al. You know our time together has been cut in half since coming back in September.”</p><p>“Well, that’s what we expected, right? We knew this year would be rough and really busy. It’s why we spent basically the entire summer together.”</p><p>“I just miss you,” Scorpius says. “A lot.”</p><p>Albus’ dimples carve in his cheeks. “I miss you, too,” he says, pulling Scorpius down by his collar to kiss him. “How’s this, then. Next time we’re in Hogsmeade, we’ll just do something for the two of us, yeah? Or, even, stay in the castle and do something in the dormitory or the courtyard. Chess, Gobstones, a picnic? Anything you want.”</p><p>Scorpius bumps their noses together. “You’re impeccable, you know that?”</p><p>“I try my best.” Albus shrugs.</p><p>Scorpius kisses his cheek. “Your best is more than anything I deserve.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>
  <em>Albus,</em>
</p><p><em>I know you stole my Quidditch jumper before you went back to school. I know this because it was hidden in a very specific place at the bottom of my wardrobe with a note on top that said </em>Albus don’t you dare take this to school with you<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>If you don’t send it back I will send you a Howler and expose to the entire Great Hall your old dream about Scorpius from before you were dating – you know the one, exploding bouquets of pansies and Rose floating away on a broomstick. I’m also holding your childhood plush toy owl hostage until it is returned to me. Gonçal-owl Flores will never be free until it is back in my possession. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Make the correct decision.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love, James.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S mum and dad want to know if you and Scorpius have worked out your Christmas plans yet? Let them, or me, know. Except don’t think about writing to me unless you’re returning the jumper. Address your letter to them.</em>
</p><p>⚡</p><p>“I have some absolutely stunning news,” Scorpius’ voice is honey in Albus’ ear as he opens his eyes and sees the blacked out silhouette of his love in front of him. “The best.”</p><p>Albus sits up, hands rubbing over his eyes as he blinks away the morning grogginess and tries to focus on Scorpius. “What stunning news?”</p><p>“Rose has agreed to do duty herself this morning. Which means,” he watches as Scorpius draws the curtains around Albus’ bed and welcomes himself under the covers. “Lie in for me. Time for us.”</p><p>Albus kisses Scorpius’ neck and instinctively curls into his side, one arm tucked underneath his head and the other draped over Scorpius’ torso. “Absolutely stunning, I agree,” Albus says. “Not as stunning as you, though.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus dips his quill into the ink pot in front of him and drags the nib over his fingernails, colouring them black, one by one. Opposite him, glasses perched low on his nose and one hand holding open a Charms textbook, Scorpius is reading through Albus’ essay. He uses removable ink (something <em>Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes</em> had created as a way to forge grades on results slips and essay feedback) to circle sentences and facts that need checking, adding little notes here and there in the margin.</p><p>Albus feels terrible about it, if he’s honest. To Scorpius’ side rest his own essays, ones that are due in a few days and could still do with a final read through just to make sure they are perfect. But this has been a system they’ve used for years, pretty much their entire time in school. Albus writes his essay, Scorpius proof reads and provides alterations or feedback, and then, as Albus makes the changes, Scorpius edits his own at the same time. And it <em>worked</em> for a while. Earlier years, for their OWLs, for example. But now, weeks deep into complex theory and mounting reading lists where they can barely keep their head above water for more than a few minutes at a time, it feels bitterly unfair to have Scorpius burden the load of <em>more</em> subjects he doesn’t study just so he can help Albus out.</p><p>“Can you stop thinking?” Scorpius asks, scrunching up a waste piece of parchment to toss at Albus. “I can almost feel how hard you’re thinking from over here. I mean, you’re going to have wrinkles if you don’t loosen up.”</p><p>Albus rolls his eyes. He unfurls the piece of parchment and takes to doodling little broomsticks and snitches over the crinkled surface. “I just feel guilty.”</p><p>“I know you do,” Scorpius says. “But that’s not going to change anything.”</p><p>“You’d think by now I wouldn’t need your help to finish up my essays…” Albus trails off.</p><p>Scorpius sighs. “Stop it,” he sets his quill down as he looks over at Albus. “If I didn’t want to read your essays, I wouldn’t. But I’m here, completely sane, doing it because I want to. Would it make you feel better if you read my Divination essay to pass the time?”</p><p>Albus gags. “Ew, Divination?”</p><p>“Knew it,” Scorpius laughs, picking up his quill once more. “You sounded just like your aunt then.”</p><p>“It runs in the family, don’t you know?”</p><p>⚡</p><p>“So, yeah,” James says, shifting momentarily out of sight in the surface of the Two-Way mirror, returning with his free hand clasped around a mug of coffee. “Trials start up again in a couple of weeks. I’m <em>really</em> hoping that I’ll break at least the reserve team, you know?”</p><p>“And you’re feeling good?” Lily asks. She shuffles about in her space between Albus’ legs, the two of them leaning against a tree trunk beside the Lake. “You know, physically?”</p><p>James nods. “So good. I think the Muggle physical therapy really helped. The Draughts and potions worked, obviously. But I feel a lot stronger now ever since I’ve been doing those exercises in the hospital.”</p><p>“That’s amazing, Jamie.” Albus smiles, chin resting atop of Lily’s waterfall of red hair.</p><p>“I’ll tell you guys straight away if I make the team,” James continues. Albus can tell that out of the picture he is lifting his leg up and down, bending it this way and that way to test the flexibility. “I have a good feeling about it.”</p><p>Albus recalls last summer when James broke his leg and his entire future had been thrown up in the air. They’d been at Shell Cottage for a week in the summer, all the grandkids playing a game of Quidditch to pass the cooling hours between dinner and supper. The salt air sticking to their broomsticks, slightly rusting the hand-me-down Snitch Harry had supplied after their cheap version found itself lost in the receding tide, gone forever. A gust of sea breeze picked up the moment Dominique threw the Quaffle, James immediately diving to save it before it fell to the shore, potentially suffering a fate similar to that of their Snitch. Only, inches away from it, a harsher gust caught James, sending him spiralling, too. All Albus remembers after the second gust of wind is a loud crunch as James landed on a sand dune. He likes to pretend it had been the broomstick snapping in half, but he knows, deep down, that’s a foolish thought.</p><p>Anyway, the injury had all but demolished James’ chances of breaking into Quidditch. He’d been scouted by Puddlemere United during his last game at Hogwarts and was a week away from making his debut in the first game of the season when the injury happened. The rest of the week at the Cottage remains a blur in Albus’ mind, fragments of hospital appointments and crying and James lying helplessly on the sofa watching his life fall to pieces without being able to stop it. Albus remembers the <em>Prophet</em> printing a scathing article (<em>POTTER-WEASLEY QUIDDITCH DYNASTY FALLING APART? JAMES SIRIUS AND HIS DESTROYED CAREER)</em>, with his parents in and out of the Ministry for days afterwards, looped in a complex legal case against the journalist. In Muggle terms: suing for defamation and violation of privacy.</p><p>Albus is practically counting down the days until Lily finds herself caught in some sort of problem; then the trio of chaos-causing Potter children will finally be complete.</p><p>(At least none of his siblings will inadvertently cause the death of one of their almost-friends, though, Albus thinks.)</p><p>“Enough about me, then,” James says. He pauses while he balances his side of the mirror – the one formerly belonging to Sirius, while Lily and Albus share the shard belonging to their father – against his legs. “How’re things?”</p><p>“Chess club has been temporarily suspended because the student who runs it had to check in to the Hospital Wing following a nervous breakdown about their exams,” Lily says. Her fingers pluck daisies out of the ground, delicately weaving them together into bracelets and crowns and chains almost as long as Albus himself. “But I’m doing okay. OWLs are a lot more intense than I thought they would be, but it’s kind of fun.”</p><p>“Al?” James asks.</p><p>Albus shrugs. “It’s… a lot. I don’t know, like, every class is a fifty-fifty split of <em>hey, here’s some really complicated theory you’ve never heard of before which I expect you to understand and write a foot long essay about by next week</em> and <em>also, by the way, this is something that will make or break your career once you leave Hogwarts so make sure you’re putting in all the time and effort possible</em>. It’s like there’s no more fun, you know? Before this year classes were all about figuring shit out and learning all these different possibilities and uses of magic. Now it’s so… regimented. Do this and that or you won’t be employed, you know?”</p><p>James frowns on his side of the mirror. “Don’t burn yourself out, little brother. NEWTs are important, but they aren’t everything. Take it easy, okay?”</p><p>Albus sighs. “I’ll try.”</p><p>“Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you,” James says; Albus groans. “My jumper. Where is it?”</p><p>⚡</p><p>The flames lick up the stone walls, casting a sombre golden glow on the faces of Scorpius and Albus as they sit awake past midnight, blankets over their laps and books closed to their side. Albus busies himself with Scorpius’ hand, drawing figure eights around his knuckles and tracing the life lines on his palm. It’s a pointless task, Albus thinks, since he knows this hand better than his own, but he enjoys doing it regardless.</p><p>Scorpius sighs. “I feel really sad this evening.”</p><p>Albus looks up at him. He shuffles closer, their shins pressed together and Albus’ hands wrapped around Scorpius’ legs, chin perched atop of Scorpius’ kneecaps. “You wanna talk about it?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Scorpius murmurs. He taps his wand to the rim of his mug, filling it with piping hot tea. “I’m not sure <em>why</em> I’m sad, I guess.”</p><p>“Well,” Albus says. “You don’t necessarily need a reason to be sad. It’s okay to just… feel deflated sometimes.”</p><p>“But I’m <em>constantly</em> sad,” Scorpius sleepily rubs his hands over his eyes. “I mean, not overtly sad, obviously. But it’s always there, underneath. And I’m sick of it, Al. I’m so sick of having a wonderful day, then getting back and being reminded by my sadness that I’m never going to be able to enjoy my happiness for more than a few hours.”</p><p>Albus frowns. “That’s not good.”</p><p>“Nothing about our situation is good, Albus.”</p><p>Albus shrugs. “I guess you’re right there.”</p><p>“It’s just…” Scorpius groans. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, an idiosyncrasy he only began doing after the end of their Fourth Year. Something to do with shaking out the bad thoughts so he can focus on the good ones. “It’s <em>fucked</em>, Albus. Do you honestly feel like you’ve had any support over the last few years?”</p><p>Albus crosses and uncrosses his fingers, watching as the shadows on Scorpius’ face contort when the flame in the fireplace begins to die. “I mean, no. Not really. But this whole wizarding community has always been shit at helping troubled kids.”</p><p>“And you’re okay with that?”</p><p>Albus rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m not. It’s awful. But it’s also what I expected.”</p><p>There had been a moment during Albus’ fifth year when he had <em>begged</em> his parents to send him to a Muggle doctor, a therapist, or something. Just someone who could help him with his nightmares and his pain and his guilt. He remembers sending constant letters back home, the parchment stained with tears and the handwriting shaky, saying he would do anything to get some help. <em>Professional </em>help. His parents had done all they could, offering words of wisdom or comfort or anything he needed to get by temporarily.</p><p>Albus’ request had made it to the Ministry, actually. They’d debated the possibility of recruiting a few Muggle therapists, with guidance from the Muggle Prime Minister, to help with extreme cases such as this. That would, of course, require unbreakable trust from the therapists to not tell anyone about magic, and to let them know about all the traumas and wars and pains from the last thirty years or so; that was the fact which, ultimately, let the case fall apart. And Albus found himself back at square one.</p><p>“After we were discharged from St. Mungo’s we had, what, three check-up appointments with our designated Healers? It’s bizarre. It’s the equivalent of giving someone three swimming lessons with arm-bands then throwing them in the deep end and wishing them the best.” Scorpius says, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.</p><p>Albus kisses his knee. “Hey, <em>hey</em>,” he says. “But you didn’t drown, right? I know it fucking sucks sometimes, but you’re still here.”</p><p>“I miss <em>him</em>.”</p><p>Albus sighs. “I know,” he murmurs. “I do, too.”</p><p>“Which is dumb, you know, because I hardly knew him. And I think that’s <em>why</em> I miss him so much. Because we didn’t know him. We lived in the same common room for four years but never thought to get to know him,” Scorpius’ voice tightens at the end of his sentence. Albus summons a box of tissues from the other side of the room, handing them over. “Every time I go onto the Quidditch pitch I feel <em>so</em> guilty. Like, who in Merlin’s name do I think I am going out there, to the place where he <em>died</em>, laughing and celebrating and having fun?”</p><p>“You’re someone who is living <em>his</em> life, Scorpius,” Albus insists. “You can grieve and feel bad and miss him while continuing to live.”</p><p>Scorpius sighs. “I’m just so fed up of being sad. Anywhere I go I’m reminded of some kind of sad thing that somehow always has something to do with me. Here, at school, I go into classes Craig should’ve been in. I sit in this common room where he should’ve spent evenings laughing and having fun. I go home and see my mum’s things, her empty perfume bottles and her dressing gowns still hung on the door – don’t even <em>think</em> about saying that her death had nothing to do with me, because we both know if she didn’t have a child she would’ve been okay – and I just feel so <em>guilty</em>.”</p><p>Albus frowns. “I don’t know what to say,” he admits. “I don’t think anything I have to offer will make you feel better. I just wish that one day you’ll see it’s okay to move on, to live your life, while reflecting on the awful things that have happened to you.”</p><p>Scorpius smiles meekly, the twitch of his mouth accompanied with a half-hearted shrug. He leans forwards to kiss Albus, pressing their foreheads together afterwards. “You don’t have to say anything, I’m just glad you’ve stuck around to listen to me all these years.”</p><p>“I’m <em>always</em> going to stick around,” Albus insists. “Always.”</p><p>“Good,” Scorpius says. His breath is minty, his eyes are dark. “Because I don’t think I’d cope if I lost you, too.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus has never really liked the Gryffindor common room. Granted, he only experiences it in fleeting visits and through images printed in photographs, and had to live in it for a few weeks while trapped in a disgraceful other-reality wherein he was separated from Scorpius, but still, the <em>vibe</em> is odd. Everything is laced with this forced sense of grandeur, each artefact placed on the shelves and every painting hung on the walls oozing this air of wealth and success, all plated in gold and embossed with a variety of jewels.</p><p>He’s heard people criticise the Slytherin common room for indulging in silvers and jades and only utilising fine antique furniture glazed to emphasise the curved black wood or upholstered silk cushions. But, Albus thinks, at least the Slytherin common room feels <em>genuine</em>. You walk in there expecting some sort of sinister-looking furniture, so you’re relieved when that is exactly what you see. You walk into the Gryffindor common room expecting warm, lavish colours and paintings on the walls of former students succeeding in battle or conquering some evil beast. Not random golden goblets shown off like trophies on the mantelpiece. Paintings of brave Muggle soldiers, with no relevance to Hogwarts, coming back after war. Everything on display is veiled with this sense of not belonging. Which, Albus supposes, perhaps makes sense. He’s always, personally, regarded Gryffindor as the house where people too stubborn to accept their proper judgement end up. The house where people who have the confidence to <em>ask</em> for things end up.</p><p>Perhaps he’s biased, though. He really didn’t like his few weeks as a Gryffindor.</p><p>What he does like, however, are the parties that they throw. Satin curtains tossed wide open, fireplace charmed to shoot glitter out instead of soot, the flames painted kaleidoscope and changing colour every few seconds. Tables and sofas pushed to the side, plates of snacks and drink bottles hovering around the room to be used when necessary. The portrait hole charmed to be soundproof, a blend of Muggle and wizard music blasting from the record players, an antique air crackling beneath the vocals as caused by the gentle screech of needle on disc.</p><p>People in their casual clothes, frilly skirts and sunflower-printed dresses, jumpers cropped above the navel and collars upturned and shirts unbuttoned to show a little skin. Kitten-heel shoes clattering over the wooden floor. Trainers squeaking as people dance. The parties in the Gryffindor common room are renowned; the events that take place during them trickle through the Hogwarts gossip train the morning after, bouncing off the walls as students rush through the corridors from lesson to lesson. Who kissed who, who drunk what? Younger students gazing intently at the subjects of the rumours, disbelieving that their house prefect could <em>ever</em> be able to finish three shots upside down while wordlessly levitating a pile of books.</p><p>“Sorry,” Scorpius comes back to his side, two goblets full of Red Rum held in his hands. “Some Hufflepuff prefect trapped me for, like, five minutes asking me about duty next week. I mean, really, is the middle of a party the proper time to start asking me abo–?”</p><p>Albus kisses him, taking one of the goblets from his hand when he pulls away. “Shush,” he says, brushing his thumb across Scorpius’ forehead to toss away some fallen strands of hair. “I love you, but shush.”</p><p>“Such a gentleman.” Scorpius says, clinking their goblets together before taking a sip.</p><p>“It’s why you’re with me, right? Because I’m just <em>so</em> lovely all the time.”</p><p>Scorpius laughs, though it gets lost under the volume of the music. “So lovely.”</p><p>“Can we sit?” Albus asks, gesturing to an empty love seat in the corner.</p><p>The two of them shuffle between groups of people clustered in the middle of the room where a makeshift dancefloor has been established, settling down into the plush cushions of the crimson loveseat positioned beside an open window. Albus spent many days during his fake-time-as-a-Gryffindor curled up on this specific seat, eyes cast onto the lake and wishing more than anything that he could find some peace in the new, awful world he appeared to be living in.</p><p>Scorpius sits properly, legs in front of him, one crossed over the other. Albus doesn’t; he spins sideways on the seat and crosses one leg under the other, shuffled as close to Scorpius’ side as is humanly possible. He balances one arm on the backrest, his fingers tracing Scorpius’ hairline and occasionally dragging further down around his cheekbones. The other lifts his drink to his lips, the ice clattering against his teeth and freezing his fingertips where he clings onto the goblet.</p><p>“Did I tell you what I overheard in the library earlier?” Albus asks.</p><p>Scorpius shakes his head. “You did not.”</p><p>“Well,” Albus says, leaning closer to Scorpius. So close to the extent where his lips sometimes brush against Scorpius’ ear as he speaks. “I was looking for a book on Muggle Studies, something about science, and on the other side of this shelf there was this group of third or fourth years, I’m not sure, who were talking about love potions. I think one of them was trying to slip some into a box of chocolates for a person they have a crush on.”</p><p>“Pretty sure that’s illegal.”</p><p>Albus snickers. “Probably,” he says. “Anyway, one of the girls started saying, like, no, don’t do that. One of the reasons Voldemort ended up being so vile was because his mother used a love potion. Talking about how love potions are only temporary, and stuff like that.”</p><p>Scorpius nods along. “I’m… impressed that someone that young knows so much about the implications of love potions,” he smiles. “Perhaps this school does provide a good education.”</p><p>Albus’ eyes roll. “Dork,” he says, kissing Scorpius’ cheek. “So this other girl starts saying that all the stuff about love potions being bad is rubbish, and it’s harmless for the most part. It’s just something to get the guys attention. Completely wrong, but whatever. And they then start talking about relationships within the school, trying to guess whether any love potion had been used. And one of them said, and I quote, ‘at least we know for certain Albus and Scorpius never used a love potion. You can just <em>tell</em> it’s completely genuine.’”</p><p>Scorpius’ smile widens. “Really?”</p><p>“Really.”</p><p>Scorpius drinks. “Ugh, that’s adorable,” he says. “I guess I forget that people talk about stuff like that.”</p><p>“Stuff?” Albus asks.</p><p>“You know,” Scorpius shrugs. “Relationships, people. I forget people gossip.”</p><p>Albus tilts his head to the side. “Even though we gossip about people literally every day?”</p><p>Scorpius rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean, you idiot. I forget that <em>we</em> are regarded as important enough to be the subject of Hogwarts gossip. We spent so many years being basically invisible, it’s sometimes bizarre remembering that people actually <em>see</em> us.”</p><p>“People are definitely watching us right now.” Albus says between kisses he presses to Scorpius’ cheek.</p><p>“And you don’t care about that?”</p><p>Albus shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “Let them watch.”</p><p>“Sounds a bit voyeuristic, honey.”</p><p>“Fucking <em>Merlin</em>,” Albus chokes on his drink. “I absolutely detest you.”</p><p>Scorpius laughs. His head falls back onto the cushions, some of his drink spilling from the way he shakes as he laughs. “No, you don’t.”</p><p>Albus kisses him. “Yes, I do.”</p><p>(He doesn’t.)</p><p>⚡</p><p>They dance to some Muggle song that sounds as if someone accidentally pressed copy and paste on the same set of lyrics twenty times, laughter falling from their lips and glitter appearing in their hair and in their drinks. Specs of glitter rest all over Scorpius’ face – cheeks, chin, nose, lips – from where Albus kisses him during the evening.</p><p>“Got something on your face, Malfoy.” Yann teases at one point.</p><p>“Got something on your back, Fredericks.” Scorpius counters, gesturing to how Polly has her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, being carried by Yann for almost the entire duration of the evening.</p><p>Albus dances with Rose. He tells Lily to go to <em>sleep</em>, though she ignores him and instead continues to twirl into the storm of glitter while she drinks what Albus hopes are non-alcoholic beverages.</p><p>The clock hung above the fireplaces reads 1:38 when Scorpius gently taps Albus’ wrist bone and clings onto his belt loop. “Can we go?” He asks.</p><p>They leave within minutes; Albus salutes Yann and Polly and Karl as they leave, pressing a kiss to Rose’s cheek and sending a glare in Lily’s direction when he sees she is still awake. His hand is clasped around Scorpius’, their steps loud on the stone flooring as they descend the staircases – a system which becomes even more complex when one is drunk – towards the dungeon.</p><p>They make it down two staircases before Scorpius falls over.</p><p>“Shit,” Scorpius says, hands pressed over his groin. His eyes are closed, forehead contorted into lines of intense wrinkles of pain. “Sorry, I’m okay.”</p><p>“No, stop,” Albus says, placing a hand on Scorpius’ shoulders to stop him from standing up. He kneels down on the step in front of Scorpius, gently tipping up Scorpius’ chin so they can look at each other. “Don’t move. Is it…?”</p><p>Scorpius nods without Albus having to finish the question. His grip on Scorpius’ shoulder tightens. “It’ll pass in a minute, I promise,” Scorpius says. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Stop, Scorpius. Stop apologising for something that isn’t your fault.”</p><p>“But it <em>is</em>.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Albus says. “End of conversation.”</p><p>Scorpius frowns. Slowly, seconds ticking into minutes, his body relaxes. His hands fall from where they had gathered protectively over the spot where <em>she</em> had cast the curses, his eyes open, his breaths settling down.</p><p>“Okay,” Scorpius murmurs. “We can go.”</p><p>Albus helps him up. He holds one of Scorpius’ hands with both of his. They walk in silence back to the dormitory.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus remembers spending weeks in various libraries during the summer of their fourth year reading up about the Cruciatus Curse and the after-effects of it. He remembers becoming gradually frustrated about the lack of information out there about <em>how</em> people live after being inflicted with it. How, he thought, was he supposed to help Scorpius if there was no information out there for him to read?</p><p>“Albus,” his dad knocked on the door to his bedroom during that summer. The moon hung high in the sky, petrichor in the air, clouds haunting the horizon. “You need to sleep.”</p><p>“I can’t.” Albus admitted.</p><p>Harry shut the door behind him, perching uncertainly on the edge of the Albus’ bed, his face falling as he looked at the book on Albus’ lap. “Those books will give you nightmares.”</p><p>“Not any worse than the ones I’ve been having for weeks already, I imagine.” Albus muttered.</p><p>“Do you need a higher dose of Sleeping Draught?” Harry asked, his hand coming to rest on Albus’ knee. “I’m sure we can arrange that with your Healer.”</p><p>Albus shook his head. “No. The Draught makes it worse sometimes. The deeper the sleep, the tougher the dreams are.”</p><p>Dreams painted with flashes of green, orchestrated with repeated screams. The burst of light as the Time-Turner was destroyed. Feathers. Streaks of blue hair. Scorpius on the floor.</p><p>“Albus,” Harry’s voice sounded immediately more serious. “I just… you’re not going to find the answers you want in those books.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Harry sighed. He crossed his legs on Albus’ bed, hair ruffled, glasses askew on his nose. Albus remembers the clock reading 3:54 in the morning. “I mean,” his dad started. “These books can’t tell you what you’re wanting to know, because most people who suffer the Curse don’t live to experience the after effects.”</p><p>Albus stayed silent.</p><p>“Listen,” Harry continued. “I’ve… been on both ends of that curse.”</p><p>Albus looked at his dad. “What?”</p><p>Harry nodded. Something came across his eyes, a flicker of regret and, somehow, anger, too.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“The, um, the day Cedric died. In the graveyard. Voldemort used it twice on me. Not severely, I would say. I mean… Merlin, it feels wrong to say not severely, when I truly felt like I was dying at the time. But, you know, I lived. And there are no physical scars, per se. Just mental ones. A severe use of the curse would be–”</p><p>“The Longbottoms?”</p><p>Harry nodded. “Yeah.”</p><p>“When did you use it?”</p><p>“Well, I tried a couple of times,” Harry laughed, though there wasn’t an ounce of humour present. “First time was on Bellatrix Lestrange. She’d just killed Sirius, and I tried to cast it… it didn’t work. Second time was… on Snape.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Harry sighed. “I was struggling. And he irritated me, which is a terrible excuse. Anyhow, it didn’t work. He blocked it before it even had the chance to hit him.”</p><p>Albus cleared his throat. “So when <em>did</em> you use it? Successfully, I mean.”</p><p>“Battle of Hogwarts. There was this… <em>vermin</em> excuse of a human being, Amycus Carrow. He was a Death Eater. And he was just <em>awful</em>. He did so many atrocious things, but the only thing I saw – the one that made me cast it – was him spitting at Professor McGonagall. In hindsight… it’s such a terrible reason, I suppose. But a lot of things happened in the past that seem, now, like overreactions,” Harry trailed off, his thumb dragging over the <em>I must not tell lies</em> scar on the back of his hand. “Anyway, I cast it. And it just… destroyed him. Hit a wall, unconscious, pretty much. I was just ambushed with <em>so</em> much anger it seemed the only thing that would help.”</p><p>“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.” Albus said.</p><p>Harry turned to look at Albus. “I’m telling you this, because I need you to understand that sometimes awful things happen, but there isn’t always something you can do to help. You won’t find answers in a book for every painful thing you experience. Life is excruciatingly cruel, sometimes, and people make choices that just… ruin the lives of others. I made several of those choices. I have also been on the receiving end of those choices made by other people,” he explained, fingers inching closer to shut the book Albus had left open on his lap. “I spent weeks after the war reeling with guilt at what I did, even though I know, in the moment, it was a decision I had to make. But there were, and today are still, no books on what to do after you’ve hurt someone that way. You just have to adjust, and accept that this is something that you have to live with. It gets easier, of course, the permanence of the adjustment will settle in, and you will be okay.”</p><p>“It’s just not fair.”</p><p>Harry raised an eyebrow. “What isn’t?”</p><p>“Why didn’t she curse <em>me</em>? Why him?” Albus asked. Harry deflated as he put together the dots. “He… he didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything that’s happened to him.”</p><p>Harry pulled Albus into his side, an arm tight around his son’s shoulders. “I know he doesn’t,” he said. “But neither do <em>you</em>. Neither of you deserved to go through that. In fact, not a single person in this world ever deserves to go through something like that.”</p><p>“Life is just so fucking sad sometimes, dad.”</p><p>Harry looked at him. “Are you sad? Right now?”</p><p>Albus paused before answering. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay,” Harry said, kissing Albus’ temple. “That’s okay.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Pass us a knife, Chappers.”</p><p>“Call me Chappers again, Albus,” Polly says, handing him a knife across the table. “And I’ll hex you.”</p><p>Albus grins. He presses the knife over the pencil outlines on the surface of his pumpkin, sawing out little square chunks one by one. “You wouldn’t dare.”</p><p>His leg is pressed against Scorpius’ under the table, the two of them joined, as always, while they carve. Pumpkin Carving Club, as Rose has penned it. Hoping, Albus thinks, that adding ‘club’ to the end gives it some sort of accreditation post-Hogwarts, something employers will look at and think <em>wow, they’re a team player!</em></p><p>“Look,” Scorpius nudges him in the side, turning his pumpkin for Albus to look at. “I’m making you.”</p><p>Albus smiles; the pumpkin has star-shaped eyes and a small turned over D-shaped mouth. “I love you.”</p><p>“I love <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Lily gags from the opposite side of the table. Her hair is twisted into two braids, a ghost-bopper placed over her head. “Disgusting.”</p><p>“Jealousy isn’t a good trait to have, sunshine.” Albus says.</p><p>Lily flicks some pumpkin seeds at him. “I’m not jealous, trust me.”</p><p>“I’m not sure she has time to be jealous–” (“Shut <em>up</em>,” Lily hisses.) “What, with her constant dates with everyone in her year.” Rose says.</p><p>Albus stares at Lily. “What?”</p><p>“<em>Nothing</em>.”</p><p>“No, she’s right,” Yann pipes up. He drags his sleeve over his forehead, brushing away a few droplets of sweat that have built up on his skin. “Well, maybe not dates. But you sure do stay up late some evenings with a lot of people from fifth year.”</p><p>“Lily Luna, what in the <em>world</em>.” Scorpius laughs.</p><p>Albus blinks. “Seriously?” He asks.</p><p>Lily rolls her eyes. “You’re not allowed to say anything to me, since you never berated <em>James</em> for always dating someone new.”</p><p>“I’m not berating you!” Albus says, holding his hands up. “I’m just… very surprised.”</p><p>“And, anyway, nobody has said anything about <em>Rose</em> and her secret girlfriend in Hogsme–”</p><p>Rose throws a handful of pumpkin seeds at Lily. “Shut it!”</p><p>“Her <em>what</em>?” Albus asks, turning in his seat to look at Rose.</p><p>“Merlin,” Scorpius chuckles, shaking his head as he cuts out the star segments on his pumpkin. “Perhaps we do deserve to be the subject of all the rumours in this place. We are shockingly more fascinating than I thought possible.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>When things are good, Albus thinks, they can be <em>really</em> good. Twined little fingers as they walk the corridors between lessons. Shared glasses of lemonade while lying on the grass in the courtyard. Exchanged love letters they drop off on each other’s pillows when the other has an early class or is caught up in a club late at night.</p><p>But, sometimes, things can be… less good. Still wonderful, of course. Albus still can’t quite believe he can thoughtlessly kiss Scorpius in the mornings and fix his tie in public without someone questioning what is happening. But there are flickers, sometimes. He supposes every young relationship has them. After all, he has heard horror stories about the way his parents and aunt and uncle constantly yo-yoed about for years before committing to each other in their youth. It’s just the natural rise and fall of developing teenagers, especially during a complex year such as their seventh.</p><p>For the most part Albus knows the two of them are on the same page. They can finish each other’s sentences and communicate their emotions through simple touches and facial expressions. There is some thread tying them together, this invisible string that lurches when Scorpius tugs, and ties into a bow when Albus’ stomach shudders with butterflies. The thread just – <em>occasionally </em>– feels a little taut.</p><p>Like now, for example. Albus leans against the wall outside the Quidditch changing room, arms crossed over his body to preserve warmth as he waits for Scorpius to come out following practice. He’d sat in the stands for the entire session, dividing his attention between an essay due tomorrow and Scorpius sweeping the pitch on his broomstick, his laugh audible even from so far away. Scorpius: Head Boy and Chaser. Two titles he never thought would be attached to Scorpius’ name. Prefect, perhaps. But nobody ever thought about Head Boy beyond assigning the title to Craig, everyone agreed on that. Plans change, it seems.</p><p>“Night, Al!”</p><p>Albus waves at a duo of Fifth Years who walk past him, rucksacks slung over their shoulders. There’s something in the way the two of them lean into each other as they walk away that makes Albus think something <em>more</em> is happening there. He isn’t sure who either of them are, if he’s honest, but he’s now determined to find out.</p><p>“Oof.” Albus groans, huffing as he grabs onto Scorpius’ jumper which has just been thrown into his face.</p><p>“Hello, my love,” Scorpius says, pressing a kiss to his lips as he finishes buttoning up his shirt and winding his scarf around his neck. “You know you didn’t have to wait. I’m sorry for being a while, Clancey was giving a tactic talk.”</p><p>Albus shrugs as he pulls Scorpius’ Quidditch jumper over his body, rolling the cuffs up once, twice, three times. “Of course I would wait. It’s our weekly sneak to the kitchens to get some free snacks.”</p><p>Scorpius winces. “Can I rain check? I need to proofread an essay due tomorrow.”</p><p>Albus frowns, crossing his arms around himself at the feeling of a drop of rain on his nose. “What?” He asks. “You didn’t tell me you had any due this week. I wouldn’t have asked you to read mine earlier if you’d said?”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s no big deal. Literally going to take about forty minutes.” He says.</p><p>“Why’d you not tell me?” Albus asks.</p><p>Scorpius stares at him. A raindrop falls onto Scorpius’ rucksack, a circle of damp shading the material darker and seeping out into the rest of the fibres. “Are you annoyed at me? Because I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”</p><p>“I mean, like. It’s not, really. But it makes me feel a bit shitty knowing you’re spending time on my work when yours is more important.”</p><p>Scorpius rolls his eyes. “I swear we’ve had this conversation about thirty times over the last few years.”</p><p>“The difference being in the past you weren’t lying to me about when you had assignments due.”</p><p>“I didn’t lie, Albus.”</p><p>“Well you definitely didn’t tell me the truth either, Scorpius.”</p><p>They stare at each other. The rain begins to bounce on the path, lights in the castle turning off as people return to their dormitories and set to sleep. “When did I lie? You never asked if I had anything to write. You just asked if I could read your work, and I said yes.”</p><p>“That’s not the point.”</p><p>“Well,” Scorpius says, hand tightening on his bag straps. “What is the point?”</p><p>“The point is – like you said the other week – we barely see each other alone right now. These late night snack trips are <em>us</em> time. And now we don’t get to have it, because you have to do work you could’ve done earlier if you’d told me you had your own essays,” Albus explains, taking a small step back when Scorpius tries to take one closer. “The deal has always been you only read my work if you’ve already done your own.”</p><p>Scorpius tilts his head to the side. “Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry, Al. I guess I didn’t realise you felt so strongly about these snack nights.”</p><p>Albus shrugs, staring off to the cloudy sky instead. “Whatever,” he says. “It’s fine.” He turns on his heel and starts to walk off.</p><p>“Hey, wait. Where are you going?”</p><p>Albus sighs. “I, um,” he stumbles over his words. “Have to go give a textbook back to Rose.”</p><p>“Wait up, then. I’ll come with.”</p><p>“No,” Albus says, glancing over his shoulder. “Just go do your essay.”</p><p>“Albus…”</p><p>He shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s fine,” he closes the space between them to kiss Scorpius. “I’ll see you back in the common room?”</p><p>So he turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. When he realises Scorpius isn’t actually following him, and instead hears his light footsteps receding as he walks down to the dungeons, he finds it hard to mask the sadness swelling in his chest.</p><p>So, yeah. When things are good, Albus feels like he’s on fire in the best way, floating ten feet above the ground, completely untouchable. But when things are <em>less </em>good… he sort of feels like he could drown. Suffocating from the inside out. Silent suffering. A type of fragility he finds it hard to pinpoint to one emotion. Love hurts, Albus knows. It’s just something he’ll have to get used to.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Hey,” Scorpius catches him on the way out of the lavatory the next afternoon. Albus startles, staring at Scorpius as if he doesn’t really recognise him. “You free this afternoon?”</p><p>Albus drags his eyebrows together. “You know I’m free. We both have a study period.”</p><p>“So you have no plans?”</p><p>Albus rolls his eyes. “I have no plans.”</p><p>“Amazing,” Scorpius says, holding out his hand. “Fancy doing something fun?”</p><p>⚡</p><p>And that’s how Albus finds himself sat in the Owlery, a place the two of them have laid claim to over the years, sat on a picnic blanket with a game of wizard’s Chess set up before him, and the most beautiful human in the world sat opposite, pondering his next move.</p><p>Rose has often questioned how and why the two of them spend so much time up here, citing the incessant rustling and hooting and general stench of the place as perfect reasons to find somewhere else to have their impromptu dates. But, somehow, everything seems peaceful when the two of them arrive. Legs hung over the edge of the staircase, the sky bright above them and the owls dozing behind them; the place seems to become a safe haven. Somewhere the two of them are welcome to exist, in whatever way they choose at that moment in time.</p><p>“Daring move,” Albus says, watching as Scorpius instructs his king to move. “You’ve lost plenty of games in the past doing that.”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs a single shoulder. “I’ve also won plenty by outsmarting you.”</p><p>Albus claps a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, Scorpius. Insulting my intelligence?” He says, pausing to instruct one of his pieces to destroy Scorpius’ pawn. “You’ll regret that.”</p><p>They bounce back and forth in easy conversation, the words flowing like their favourite brand of lemonade and the sun warming their skin each time they move pieces, hands occasionally brushing as they clear up the broken fragments. Good moments like this, Albus thinks, makes everything worth it.</p><p>“Did you, um,” Albus breaks the silence after their most recent game finishes, Scorpius idly casting spells to fix all the pieces again. “Get your essay done?”</p><p>They hadn’t spoken when Albus returned to the common room after his fake detour to the Gryffindor common room. Scorpius had been sat downstairs, pages spread on the coffee table, eyes glued to his penmanship. Albus had drawn the curtains around his bed, a rarity ever since the two of them had gotten together, and Scorpius arrived to his bed hours later. Albus hadn’t even heard him come in.</p><p>“I did,” Scorpius says, shuffling closer to Albus once he packs away the board. “I am sorry. For not telling you.”</p><p>Albus glances at him. “It’s okay.”</p><p>“Stop. It’s not, otherwise you wouldn’t have been upset yesterday.”</p><p>“I just,” Albus sighs. “I know how stressed you are. I don’t want you wasting time on my work when you should be your own priority.”</p><p>“I <em>know</em>. I only didn’t want to let you down by not being able to help you.”</p><p>“I’m sure my one essay would have coped, Scorp.” Albus says, leaning over to kiss Scorpius’ cheek. He rests his forehead on Scorpius’ shoulder, breathing in the minty scent of his shower gel, the lavender and sandalwood of his cologne.</p><p>Scorpius’ fingers find their way into Albus’ hair. “I know that now.”</p><p>“So no more <em>not</em> telling me everything?” Albus asks.</p><p>He feels Scorpius smile without seeing it. “Of course,” he says. “No more <em>not</em> telling you everything.”</p><p>Moments like <em>this</em> Albus thinks. The sun hot on his skin and the fingers in his hair laced with love and affection. His whole future ahead of him, a tiny, secure anchor in his present holding him close to the person he intends to incorporate into all of those future plans. Moments like this make everything worth it. Make him forget the times where perhaps their string feels taut, when he feels like a boat drifting a little too far out. Moments like this remind him that Scorpius is a lighthouse, guiding him home, to safety.</p><p>“I’ll love you forever, you know that?” Albus says.</p><p>Scorpius looks at him. “You will?”</p><p>“I definitely will,” Albus smiles. “There’s nobody else for me in this whole world.”</p><p>“Well,” Scorpius kisses him. “That’s high praise.”</p><p>“True praise.”</p><p>Scorpius smiles. “I’ll love you forever and a day,” he says. “You can’t top that.”</p><p>Albus laughs. Scorpius laughs. An owl flutters out over their heads and the sun sets over the lake. The sky feels heavy, so does Scorpius’ hand on his knee. For the first time in a while, his love doesn’t hurt. Albus only wishes for every day to feel as weightless as this one, loving and feeling <em>loved</em>, heart beats in tune, the two of them creating a harmonious melody on which to carry out their entire lives. Bliss, Albus thinks, <em>pure</em> bliss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the final wish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>But above all else,<br/>
I wish for your happiness,<br/>
even though I am aware<br/>
you require my absence to<br/>
find it.</em>
</p><p>- Beau Taplin, <em>The Final Wish</em></p><p>⚡</p><p>For most things that fall apart, the source of the destruction is found inside. A fire, usually, begins inside the home, tearing everything to shreds before reaching the structural frame of the building and collapsing it inwards. Peaches – and other fruit, of course, this one just happens to be Albus’ favourite – rots from the inside. Turning to murky colours at the pit, the signs of death spreading gradually to the outside whereupon they appear in blemishes on the once perfect skin of the fruit. Tree trunks suffer a similar fate. Tooth decay, too. Illness in people and animals.</p><p>Something always seems to go awry <em>inside</em>. The first domino is metaphorically pushed over inside, and everything else falls as a result. What starts as a single impurity spreads to intoxicate and demolish whole structures, complete communities.</p><p>If you ask Albus at what point he thinks his relationship with Scorpius began to fall apart, he will say his nightmare on the night of Christmas Eve. That nightmare had been the first domino, the single match struck and dropped onto a pile of rotten leaves. The catalyst for a series of utterly wrenching events that unravelled in front of him, unable to stop, unable to make an impact.</p><p>Albus sends off his final letter to Scorpius at half past ten in the evening, an extra little present wrapped to the owl’s leg with candy cane coloured twine. They exchanged their main gifts on their last night at Hogwarts before the Christmas break – this year Albus had sourced a first edition of one of Scorpius’ favourite books on divination – though they almost always have an extra one to send along to be opened on Christmas morning, too.</p><p>“See you in the morning, my love.” Ginny kisses his hand as he crosses through the living room to head upstairs.</p><p>Albus ruffles up her hair. “Night, mum.”</p><p>The stairs creak as he walks to his room, bedsheets scratching and shuffling as Lily and James roll over in their slumber. Albus blows out the candles on his windowsill, pulling the drapes shut and tossing his clothes onto the chair in the corner of his room. In place of his jumper he pulls on one of his dad’s old Gryffindor Quidditch shirts, the sleeves of which are so long they almost reach the bend in his elbow.</p><p>Albus’ room is an exhibition of every epoch of his life; he once went to a Muggle art gallery with Rose and her grandparents on Hermione’s side, specifically to see an exhibition entitled <em>My Life; Told Through the Scraps Found in my Memory Box</em> by a French photographer who had recently passed away. The premise of the exhibition was as such; the photographer had kept idle movie ticket stubs, labels from her favourite clothes, Polaroid photos of her with her exes and her friends, among other things, in a box tucked under her bed. She had laid them all out in different arrangements and photographed them against a white background, entitling each piece with something discreet and perplexing, <em>Friday Evenings</em> and <em>Running Water</em>, for example.</p><p><em>Friday Evenings</em>, from what Albus remembers, had consisted of a theatre ticket to a Sunday matinee performance of Phantom of the Opera, the label from a bottle of Evian water, and a single bobby pin. He had stared at the photograph for so long his eyes began to cross, and he still couldn’t work out the link even at the end of the day when they left the gallery to get some dinner.</p><p>“But what does a Sunday matinee ticket have to do with Friday evenings?” Albus asked Rose in the period of time in the restaurant between ordering their food and being brought their plates.</p><p>Rose had shrugged. “I think you’re reading into it too much, Albus,” she had said. “It’s just a title.”</p><p>But Albus had been enchanted with the scraps on display, how such intimate details had been arranged to hide the deepest meanings so only those involved knew what was happening. So he had taken inspiration from the exhibition when it came to sorting out his own room.</p><p>He pinned receipts from Muggle bars he and his friends went to during the holidays on his noticeboard. He created bunting out of different branded napkins he stole from hotels he and Scorpius stayed in on their weekends away with each other. A kaleidoscope of bottle caps from the Leaky Cauldron, pressed petals in frames plucked from flowers in the Malfoy Manor garden. Snapshots of the happiest moments in his life decorate his walls, hidden between band posters and a Slytherin banner and photographs of him and his family.</p><p>Albus delicately taps his fingers over the framed photo booth strip of him and Scorpius from Teddy and Victoire’s wedding, pausing to suppress the wash of <em>want</em> to have Scorpius next to him all the time from his system. As he lies down to sleep that night, coils of snowflakes fluttering by his window and his parents shuffling about downstairs as they organise the presents under the tree, Albus feels peace. He feels calm. He feels as if he is protected and <em>okay</em> and, for the first time, stable.</p><p>It can only be regarded as a shame that he dreams of the Quidditch pitch that night. Slashes of green and twisting bodies and the haunting echo as voices and spells and screams ricochet off the goal-posts. He dreams in an unheard level of detail for the first time <em>since</em> that night; his thoughts are ambushed with the blank expression on Delphi’s face as she curses Scorpius, his mind is an off-key symphony blending together snaps and gasps and laughs.</p><p>It is such a shame the last thing he hears in his mind before waking to a knock on his door (his mother welcoming him to what is supposed to be the happiest day of the year) is Scorpius <em>screaming</em> his name. And only then, as Albus lies on his back staring at the glow in the dark stars pasted on his ceiling, does he realise nothing has changed since that evening.</p><p>He is as he was then: a helpless, hopeless fool.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p>“Do you need something to drink, Al?”</p><p>“You’re looking a little pale, son.”</p><p>“Maybe you’ll perk up after Christmas dinner.”</p><p>(He can’t look them in the face. It takes all his strength to not slink upstairs and weep against his window.)</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus is drunk.</p><p>He <em>never</em> gets drunk, which he supposes sets off enough alarm bells in Scorpius’ mind for him to essentially not leave Albus’ side for the entirety of the New Year’s party. Every year since Yann was <em>born</em>, Albus assumes, the Fredericks family have hosted the most peculiar New Year’s events, bordering between a get together and a full blown bash.</p><p>The Fredericks house is extravagant, to say the least. Lace curtains and silk, upholstered chairs, mirrors the length of walls. The first thing Albus noticed about the house when he came to sleep over for the first time had been how everything was shaded white. There were occasional splashes of blue or grey on the walls but, for the most part, the furniture was white.</p><p>“It’s just a fancy colour.” Scorpius had insisted.</p><p>Albus shook his head. “No,” he said. “It means they have the money to immediately replace anything if it gets stained.”</p><p>His point had been proven when one evening, the party in their Fifth Year, Albus believes, one of Yann’s aunts had spilt an entire jug of mulled wine over the antique French love seat in the conservatory. They slept on the floor in Yann’s bedroom, and when they slumbered downstairs in the morning to eat breakfast, the seat had been replaced with an equally elegant Belgian variation.</p><p>Scorpius kisses him out of nowhere.</p><p>“Oh,” Albus says, blinking as he grounds himself back in the present. “Hey, you.”</p><p>Scorpius smiles. “Hi,” he says. Albus is pretending to not notice how Scorpius hasn’t asked <em>are you okay</em> all evening, because he knows the question is burning on his lips. “You seemed to vanish for a few minutes then.”</p><p>“As usual.” Albus says, leaning instinctively into Scorpius’ side.</p><p>He can’t quite describe the internal conflict he’s been battling the last few days. He simultaneously wants Scorpius right next to him at all times and wants him as far away as possible. It hurts to look him in the eye – all he sees is a shadow of the pain from when he was hit with the Cruciatus curse – but he is afraid to look away just in case Scorpius vanishes, or something worse.</p><p>Albus had left a few of Scorpius’ letters unanswered after Christmas morning. He saw Scorpius’ cursive, slanted and shaky writing on the front of an envelope and had tucked it under his pillow to hide it from his view. Then another one arrived. And another.</p><p>It wasn’t until the fourth letter arrived on the twenty-eighth, a simple letter containing one sentence, (<em>There is no hurry. We shall get there some day)</em>, that he finally wrote back.</p><p>Albus cited his absence as a lack of time to sit down, having to bounce from house to house to accommodate his startlingly large family during the festive period. He knew then it was foolish to lie to Scorpius about being busy, because of <em>course</em> Lily or James or Rose or someone else would eventually ask Scorpius if he knew why Albus was so miserable during Christmas. <em>Miserable</em>? Scorpius will ask, <em>but he told me he was busy having fun with you lot</em>. Lily-James-or-Rose will shake their head and go <em>no, no way, he was a sickly ghost the entire time</em>.</p><p>Albus lied anyway. He sowed the seeds in the garden of his destruction.</p><p>“I’ve missed you,” Scorpius says, kissing Albus’ temple. Albus wants to laugh tragically at how they are both blatantly avoiding the weird bubble of tension between them. “Every time I go to get a drink you vanish.”</p><p>Albus shrugs his shoulders. “I’m just such a busy bee.”</p><p>“So busy,” Scorpius repeats, one arm winding around Albus’ side. “You’ve never been so popular in your entire life.”</p><p>They’ve done this before. Wearily toe this awful line between wanting to ask a question and wanting to answer the unspoken question, and in every prior instance Albus had been the one to crack.</p><p>“I’m sure you coped without me for,” Albus looks at his watch and jokingly gasps. “Eight whole days!”</p><p>Scorpius rolls his eyes and pulls Albus flat against him, dropping another kiss to his lips. “You’re a sarcastic arsehole, you know that?”</p><p>“You love me all the same.” Albus smiles, burying his head into Scorpius’ neck.</p><p>Scorpius squeezes him. “I definitely do.”</p><p>Albus wants to say <em>I do, too</em>. It’s on the tip of his tongue. <em>Always</em> on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Their group, minus Lily, stand in a half moon shape on the Fredericks family lawn. Albus is perplexed at the sheer amount of people at this gathering – he could’ve <em>sworn</em> there weren’t this many an hour ago – and finds himself constantly shying away from stares and whispers from people who clearly recognise who he is.</p><p>“I swear,” Rose is saying, her words almost as sloppy as her space buns that are falling free from their hair-tie prison. “Your family must keep my dad’s business profitable year after year. How many fireworks have they bought this time?”</p><p>Yann shrugs. His head is resting on Polly’s shoulder, their little fingers curled together by their sides. “Merlin knows,” he says. His voice is airy, his eyes glassy. “They also probably, definitely, potentially, <em>possibly</em>, keep every alcohol company within a five mile radius afloat too. These parties are luxurious, Rosie!”</p><p>“You’re <em>soooo</em> drunk,” Karl giggles, his own glass half empty in his hands. “Imagine if mother Fredericks came out right now and saw that her angel boy is absolutely smashed, and it’s not even <em>midnight</em> yet.”</p><p>“Hey,” Polly jumps to Yann’s defence, leaning over to flick Karl’s nose. “Bit rich coming from you, Mr Rosy-Cheeks. The only sober-ish one here is Scorpius.”</p><p>“Very true,” Scorpius says, lifting up his glass of lemonade. “It’s quite fun, you know, being the only sober one in a group of completely <em>gone</em> teenagers.”</p><p>They all giggle. Well, all of them except Albus. Albus simply lifts up his and Scorpius’ joined hands and kisses his knuckles.</p><p>“How long until midnight?” Albus asks.</p><p>Rose looks at her watch. “Twenty minutes.”</p><p>“Well I propose one final toast of the year,” Yann says, tapping his wand on the rim of everyone’s glasses, watching as they fill to the brim once more. “To Craig. I miss that boy <em>so</em> much. Every year it hurts more. But what his loss has done, is inspire me to live every day as if it could be my last. I know he died feeling loved, I <em>know</em> he knew we adored him. And that brings me comfort, above it all.”</p><p>They all nod in quiet agreement.</p><p>“To Craig.” Polly says, holding her wine glass high in the air.</p><p>“To Craig!” Everyone else follows suit. They all sip at their drinks. Albus downs his in one go.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Five! Four! Three! Two! <em>One</em>!”</p><p>The garden fills with a bright orange light as fireworks shoot to the sky and explode into a mismatched collage of stars and flames and Phoenix outlines and love hearts. Drinks are downed. Laughter comes from all directions.</p><p>Scorpius tilts Albus’ chin up and kisses him firmly on the lips. “Happy New Year, my love.”</p><p>Albus’ grip on Scorpius’ jacket tightens. “Happy New Year,” he whispers back. “I love you <em>so</em> much it hurts.”</p><p>“I have a good feeling about this year.” Scorpius says, his eyes completely glued to Albus’. Blue meeting green, light meeting dark.</p><p>Albus forces himself to nod. “So do I,” he lies. He mentally berates himself for lying to Scorpius again. He knows he can’t allow it to become a habit of his, but he fears he is already too far gone. “A really good feeling.”</p><p>“It’s bound to be a good year as long as you’re by my side.” Scorpius continues.</p><p>Albus bites his lip. He doesn’t even nod. <em>Good</em>, he thinks, forcing himself to rise to his tiptoes and kiss Scorpius again. <em>No more lying</em>.</p><p>⚡</p><p>The remainder of the Christmas break slips away into fragmented memories of drunken nights, alcohol-sweet kisses and dark jokes that would most likely concern any adult if they had heard them. The tinsel is pulled from around the trees and the dinner leftovers are bundled into sandwiches and pies and snack-food for during the days, and the looming threat of exams clouds over their visions almost as fast as it had slipped from their minds during the winter months.</p><p>Albus stares at the writer’s bump on his left hand, the late night milky glaze through the windows shading the usually angry red mark with a tint of grey. He rubs his thumb over it, lost in melancholy thoughts that seem to constrict around his neck even tighter as the days progress. Scorpius sleeps to his side, splayed out on his own bed with the drapes wide open and the sound of his breathing accompanying the mundane ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.</p><p>A squid passes by the window. Albus peers closer to the glass to see if there are any signs of a flock of merpeople shooting past at such an hour.</p><p>He sighs, settling back into his cross-legged position on the windowsill. Albus has open in front of him a book on wandlore belonging to Scorpius, written by a recently passed admirer of Ollivander, his bookmark a peacock feather from the Malfoy Manor garden. When he told their head of house in Fifth Year he was considering going into wand making she had looked at him with an expression that he can only describe as humour. Disbelief.</p><p>“Wand making?” She had asked.</p><p>Albus fiddled with the careers pamphlet in his hands, turning the corner over and over and over until there were so many folds he had lost count. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it sounds really interesting.”</p><p>“I feel like it would be better for you to look at something closer down to earth, Albus. Wand making is a notoriously difficult field to get into, there are scarcely more than twenty reputable ones in this country. Perhaps,” she said, summoning a few more pamphlets which she pushed across the table to Albus. “Something in the Ministry? Like your parents?”</p><p>Albus sighed then. And he sighs again now reminiscing over the conversation.</p><p><em>Parents</em>. Always, <em>always</em> do conversations about his present and future somehow wind back to revolving around his parents. Advising him to look to becoming an Auror since he essentially has one foot in the door already with his father and aunt’s astute positions at the Ministry. Asking him over breakfast whether there is any way to get in contact with Harry Potter since, apparently, trying to get him to answer their owls these days is a rarer occurrence than a unicorn in broad daylight.</p><p>Perhaps that is why he has become insistent on making it as a wandmaker. The fact that nobody else he knows does it, or wants to do it. Cracking it in such a difficult industry would prove to not only himself, but <em>everyone</em>, that he doesn’t need his famous name to make a change in the world. That he can, and will, prosper on his own terms.</p><p>Albus sighs and closes the book. As he stretches, his shirt lifts up, too, a sliver of his abdomen glistening in the wavy shadows cast by moonlight breaking through the water outside the window. He pulls one of the curtains closed and kicks his slippers off at the base of his bed. He smooths out his bedsheets and fluffs up his pillow, lying down, instead, on Scorpius’ bed.</p><p>Albus settles under the covers, his nose in the crook of Scorpius’ neck, one of his arms slung thoughtlessly over his chest. Scorpius subconsciously shuffles closer to him in his sleep. Albus holds him tight because he <em>can</em>. Because his warmth makes him feel as if everything is okay.</p><p>Because, <em>Merlin</em>, he loves the feeling of being loved. Even if he can sense, in the back of his mind, that it is beginning to slip away.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus smiles as he walks into the Great Hall for lunch, sitting himself down next to Scorpius and kissing him enthusiastically, his hands clasped behind his back. Scorpius is taken aback, but his eyes radiate joy, and he kisses Albus again a few more times before either of them speak.</p><p>“Well,” Scorpius says, spinning on the bench so one leg rests on either side and he can face Albus properly. “That was a pleasant surprise.”</p><p>“You left so early this morning I didn’t get chance to say goodbye.” Albus says.</p><p>Scorpius frowns. “I know, sorry,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of Albus’ mouth. “Early practice.”</p><p>“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Albus smiles, bringing his hands in front of him, displaying to Scorpius a little box wrapped in brown paper. “Happy Valentine’s.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Scorpius laughs, his face glowing as he takes the box, kissing Albus’ hand in the process. “This is adorable.”</p><p>Albus grins. “I know.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You haven’t even opened it,” Albus whines, pouring water into his goblet. “Don’t thank me yet.”</p><p>Scorpius rolls his eyes. “I’m pre-emptively thanking you because I know whatever it is I’m going to love it.”</p><p>“Cute, but open it.”</p><p>Scorpius smiles. He carefully peels off the wrapping paper, setting the box on the table as he pulls off the lid and picks up a ring once resting on a foam cushion. “Oh, Al,” he says, slipping it onto his index finger (a simple band, the letter <em>A</em> sandwiched between the two ends to the curved metal piece), where it promptly fades from view. Visible to them, just about, like a shivering watery outline, but not visible to anyone who walks by. “Woah, what is this?”</p><p>“My Uncle George made it for me,” Albus explains. “He invented this, like, chameleon varnish kind of stuff that when applied to jewellery, or written with, goes kinda invisible. Basically blends into the surroundings. It was made for smuggling purposes, obviously, some kind of joke where you can smuggle something into work or school or try and communicate through secret notes. But I thought, since we aren’t technically meant to wear jewellery in school, it would be nice on a ring for you to wear whenever you want. The letter is up to interpretation.”</p><p>“I love you so much,” Scorpius says, hand pressed to Albus’ cheek as he kisses him again. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. Merlin, I feel red in the face.”</p><p>Albus grins. “You are red in the face.”</p><p>“You’re perfect.”</p><p>“So are you.”</p><p>Scorpius gently squeezes Albus’ thigh, keeping his hand there for the rest of the time they spend in the Great Hall. Albus thinks, barely, that he has a chance to save things from going south. That he can stop his nightmares, sort out his life. He wants to, so badly, just so he can keep this radiant boy in his life. The most radiant of boys; the most exquisite of human beings, Scorpius Malfoy.</p><p>⚡</p><p>If you ask Albus at what point he knew for <em>certain</em> his relationship with Scorpius was falling apart, he will say the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw in the midst of a rainstorm in late February.</p><p>The entire week had been painted with shades of grey in candlelight, the lanterns in all the corridors charmed to shine ten times brighter to combat against the looming thunderous clouds that shut the sun from view for hours at a time. A restless chill hung onto the walls, slipping through the cracks in the stonemasonry, infiltrating even the cosiest corners with brisk winds and slashing raindrops. Albus hadn’t felt dry at all, constantly wiping away some sort of damp that clung to his clothes or matted his hair to his forehead. He walked with his arms around his chest, sleeves pulled over his hands and eyes looking down at the floor as to not miss any puddles that could have sent him flying.</p><p>The morning of the Quidditch match is no different. He and Scorpius walk into the Great Hall, their little fingers entwined and their footsteps matching, and look up to see the simulated sky flashing with lightning, murky with flurried raindrops. Albus presses closer to Scorpius; Scorpius presses a kiss to Albus’ cheek.</p><p>They sit in the middle of the Slytherin table, Scorpius beginning his pre-game superstitions and rituals while the rest of the team crowd around him and they all listen to the captain relaying her latest tactical ideas. Albus watches as Scorpius grabs a slice of toast and spreads two fine layers of butter and strawberry jam on it. He cuts the toast diagonally in two, then again into quarters. Scorpius never usually eats breakfast in such a systematic way – he’s one to just grab at what he wants and eat as he feels is appropriate – but match day always seems to bring out a different side in him. The first time he ever ate breakfast in such a way, Slytherin won; Scorpius hasn’t looked back since.</p><p>“Awful morning, right?” Rose plops on the bench beside him, her Slytherin scarf hidden beneath her tightly buttoned coat. Albus is pretty sure the Head Girl isn’t supposed to be actively showing support for one team in a Quidditch match that doesn’t involve her own house, but he doesn’t question it. He has an inkling the scarf used to belong to Craig, so he just smiles slightly and nods along to her question.</p><p>“Atrocious,” Albus says, serving himself some scrambled egg on top of his toast. “I hate when they play games in this weather. It’s literally just asking for trouble, I swear.”</p><p>Rose shrugs. “I know,” she sighs, stealing a forkful from Albus’ plate. She chews methodically three, four, five times before speaking again. “I’ve asked over and over how, after <em>years</em> of injuries that have occurred during games played in this weather, they can continue, but McGonagall just shrugs me off saying that it would be disrespectful to the ‘aura of the game’ to postpone because of a little rain.”</p><p>Albus frowns.</p><p>Rose gently taps his kneecap. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”</p><p><em>Yes</em>, Albus wants to say. <em>Yes</em>, I <em>am</em>, because last night and the night before my dreams have been detailed with images of the person I love barely scraping through the days alive. Slipping on a damp stone in the entryway to the Great Hall and almost hitting his head on a jagged rock. Dropping ingredients into his cauldron and only realising seconds after that he’s produced a poison that would’ve been strong enough to kill him.</p><p>Instead, Albus shrugs. “Kinda,” he lies. “I’m always a bit nervous. I just get used to it at this point.”</p><p>“He’ll be fine,” Rose insists, gently poking Albus’ nose. “You worry a lot.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Rose kisses his cheek. “See you after the game. You’re coming to Gobstones Club, right?”</p><p>Albus nods. “Yep,” he sighs. “See you there.”</p><p>Rose bustles off back to the Gryffindor table, and Albus turns to see Scorpius and the rest of the team standing from their benches and holding their gloves and goggles and helmets under their arms.</p><p>“I’ll see you later,” Scorpius says, gently dragging his finger over Albus’ cheekbone. “Okay?”</p><p>Albus gently pulls Scorpius down by the collar of his jumper to kiss him, pressing their foreheads together afterwards. “I love you.”</p><p>Scorpius smiles, though Albus notes a flicker of confusion cross his complexion. “I love <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“Have a good game.” Albus says through gritted teeth.</p><p>Scorpius kisses him again. Someone in the background whistles; Albus decides to ignore them. “I will,” he says. “If we win I’ll dedicate it to you.”</p><p>Albus smiles. With one final chaste kiss exchanged, Scorpius winks playfully at him and turns on his heel to chase after the rest of the team. Albus looks up at the ceiling, eyes glazing over the daunting sombre sky and the sinister shocks of light that illuminate the cotton candy curls of clouds as lightning strikes somewhere in the distance. He has an awful feeling about this game; he reminds himself to breathe, and then finishes his breakfast.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus meets Lily at the top of the path to the Quidditch pitch, her wand pointing above her head as she conjures an invisible umbrella charm to keep her dry. Herds of students stumble along the damp rocks and muddy grass towards the stands, a buzz of excited chatter battling against the pattering of the rain and the groans of tree branches fighting against the wind.</p><p>“You look awful,” Lily says, holding her wand higher so the invisible umbrella covers both of them. “No offence, obviously.”</p><p>Albus shrugs. “None taken,” he murmurs, pulling the sleeves of Scorpius’ spare jumper down over his hands. “I haven’t been sleeping well recently.”</p><p>“I can tell,” Lily frowns, leaning against Albus as they walk to the stands and head to the split partition where the Gryffindor students meet the Slytherins. “I guess the dungeons probably get a bit cold, don’t they?”</p><p>Albus chuckles. “Understatement of the year.”</p><p>He almost makes it to the staircase. <em>Almost</em>. But then he sees the heavy rain forming a misty fog that hovers in the sky, creating a dark, claustrophobic sensation on the pitch. And he looks at the grass, at the centre line, between the goal posts. And he <em>can’t</em> walk anymore.</p><p>It’s as if someone has wrapped barbed wire around his heart, slowly pulling it tighter with every breath he attempts to take. Albus swears the rain begins to coil together to create shapes that look like people, four specific people, scattered in the middle of the pitch. The grass is too green, the air is too heavy.</p><p>He sees images of Craig, he sees the flash of green and the silence and the sinister crunch of dead leaves blown over from the forest under the sole of Delphi’s boots as she walks over to his body and kicks his leg. He sees Scorpius’ body twisted into horrendous shapes, his screams silent as his voice is ripped from his throat by the curse. Albus blinks. The night fades from his view, instead replaced by images of Scorpius becoming injured during the game. Flung off his broom like James had been those summers ago. Struck by lightning, maybe? Lost in the clouds and never seen again? Crashed into by a Gryffindor player, with the broomsticks not being the only things to break into two pieces in the collision?</p><p>Albus grabs onto Lily’s arm as he feels himself fall over. He feels Lily hold onto him, too, her eyes cutting through his temples and staring right into his mind.</p><p>“Albus?” Lily asks, looking over her shoulder as other students walk past, whispering behind cupped hands at the sight of Albus bent over, one hand over his heart, eyes screwed shut. “Al, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Albus shakes his head.</p><p>“Albus… you’re scaring me.” Lily murmurs.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Albus says, digging the heel of his hands into his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”</p><p>He forces himself to count his breaths, each one as they fall in and out of his body. He focuses on the tightness of his chest as he inhales, and the emptiness that follows as he exhales. The emptiness that seems to seep through his veins, cloud in his thoughts, weigh heavy in his fingers as he wipes away tears he didn’t even know had fallen from his waterline.</p><p>“Do you want me to go get someone? Rose? Scor–”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Albus says, his voice erratic as he steadies himself and looks away from the grass. “Don’t do that. I’m fine.”</p><p>Lily pulls him back when he tries to walk away from her. “You’re not,” she says. “You should go to the Hospital Wing.”</p><p>“Lily, I’m fine.” Albus lies.</p><p>She shakes her head. “Stop lying.”</p><p>“I’m <em>trying</em>.”</p><p>Lily frowns. “Please let me take you to the Hospital Wing,” she whispers, sidestepping them both off the pathway so they are away from the crowds. “Please. You know mum and dad would say the same.”</p><p>Albus sighs. He looks at the entrance to the changing area, imagining Scorpius laughing and talking and polishing his broom handle, then directs his gaze to the castle. “Okay,” he relents. “Hospital Wing.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>Wrapped in a blanket. A glass of Calming Draught resting in his hands. Rain on the windows.</p><p>“I think Slytherin have the ball,” Lily commentates from her slim seat on the windowsill, legs pulled up to her chest and chin resting on her knees. She occasionally drags her sleeve over the window, wiping away the condensation to try and get a better view of the pitch. “Oh, yeah. They definitely do. One of the Chasers…”</p><p>She trails off. Albus rests his head against the wall, staring at the lantern charmed to hover above his head. The flame in the lantern flickers, the cage spinning around and around in a cruel cyclical pattern. He thinks he’s quite a bit like that lantern; always following the same path, never making progress, constantly stumbling over the same hurdle and finding himself at the starting line once more.</p><p>“Oooh,” Lily pipes up again, squinting with her nose pressed to the glass. “Slytherin scored! I’m not sure what the score would be, but Slytherin have definitely scored more… Hey! Ravenclaw have the ball now, I think it’s that–”</p><p>Albus doesn’t hear the rest. His Draught kicks in. Kicks him unconscious. Kicks him into a parade of dreadful dreams all tainted with the image of the place he fears he’ll never be able to go to again: that stupid, <em>stupid</em> Quidditch pitch.</p><p>⚡</p><p> “…another anxiety attack, I will have to tell his parents if they continue. He hasn’t been checked in here because of one for years, as you know. I thought he was doing much better. Miss Potter said he looked very pale as they were heading to the pitch. Then he just stopped, fell over.”</p><p>Albus is aware of footsteps around his bed, the gentle trickle of his glass being topped up to his side, the shuffling of a chair on the opposite side of him. A sigh. The gentle popping of knuckles, the familiar <em>creak</em> of an antique hardback book being closed and set down.</p><p>“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” another voice – a horribly familiar one – says. “I’ve been thinking for days he looks unwell. After… Christmas, I believe? Yeah, Christmas. Something must’ve happened before the end of the year, because he’s been kind of different since then. I don’t know.”</p><p>“Well, if anyone is going to get to the bottom of it, I’d place my money on you, Scorpius.”</p><p>Scorpius laughs quietly, catching himself when he notices himself being too loud. “Well, here’s hoping,” he says. “I’ll be out of here in an hour or so, is that okay?”</p><p>“Stay as long as you want, I’ll write you a slip if you need permission to be out of bed after hours,” Madam Pomfrey says. “And try not to use your hand too much. The potion should work things out overnight and set the bones back into place, just try and let it relax.”</p><p>“Thank you so much,” Scorpius says. “Good night, Madam.”</p><p>“Night, Scorpius.”</p><p>Footsteps recede. The chair creaks. A gentle weight appears on the side of his bed, a pair of legs kicked up and crossed just on the edge of the mattress. Everything else is silent; no rain on the windows, no gentle whistles of professors lurking the halls after the curfew.</p><p>“You can stop pretending to be asleep now, Al.” Scorpius says.</p><p>Albus opens his eyes and turns over to look at Scorpius. Scorpius wrapped in one of Albus’ jumpers, his hair curly at the ends (Albus’ favourite style, left to air dry after a rushed shower following the Quidditch match), and the circles under his eyes a haunting navy colour. Bandages wrapped around his hand, a brace holding his thumb straight and his index finger still.</p><p>“How d’you know I was awake?”</p><p>“I’ve shared a room with you for seven years, and essentially shared a bed for three of those,” Scorpius shrugs, moving his chair closer to the edge of Albus’ bed after removing his legs. “I know how you sleep.”</p><p>Albus nods, pulling the cover up to his chin. “So did you win?”</p><p>Scorpius tilts his head to the side. “We did,” he says. “Montgomerie caught the Snitch about a half hour in. Was freezing, mind, but it was a good match.”</p><p>Albus nods again. “What’s…?” He stares at Scorpius hand.</p><p>“This?” Scorpius tilts his hand from side to side, examining the bandage at all angles. “Nothing too serious. Got a Bludger to the hand when I was trying to score. Hurt like Hell, but Madam Pomfrey has given me something to mend the bones, so I should be okay.”</p><p>Albus frowns, but doesn’t say anything more.</p><p>“Lily caught me as I was leaving the changing room and told me where you were,” Scorpius continues when it becomes clear Albus isn’t going to speak. “Rose found me, too, saying you didn’t arrive at the game after you agreed to meet her there. Lily said you weren’t feeling well and had gone to nap instead.”</p><p>“Seems pretty accurate to me.”</p><p>“Al<em>bus</em>,” Scorpius says, his voice thin and strained. “Look, I have never forced you to talk to me about how you’re feeling, and I’m not going to start doing that now. But you and I both know that something is up, and it has been for a while. I <em>know</em> that you have always trusted me with anything and everything, so the fact you aren’t telling me this has me pretty certain it’s something kind of serious. Which, of course, has me concerned because I only want you to be happy. I just hope you still know I love you, <em>so</em> much, and if you ever feel like you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”</p><p>Albus lifts his hand out from under the cover and dangles it over the side of the bed. Scorpius is quick to take it in both of his, clasping Albus safely in his grip, mindful to not bend his thumb or catch his dressing on anything. “I know all of those things, I promise,” he says. Scorpius nods. “I also promise that this… thing… isn’t some big secret I’m keeping from you. It’s just something I feel like I need to work through by myself.”</p><p>“Okay,” Scorpius says, kissing Albus’ knuckles. “That’s all I need to know.”</p><p>Albus smiles. “Good.”</p><p>“Can I tell you a secret?”</p><p>Albus props himself up on his elbows and looks at Scorpius. “Sure.”</p><p>Scorpius smiles sadly. “I’m sick of seeing the people I love in hospital beds.”</p><p>Albus frowns ever so slightly. He tightens his grip on Scorpius’ hand and leans over the edge of the bed to kiss him. “I can imagine.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>After his night in the hospital Albus feels the air around him shift. As if he is now trapped in a delicate bubble everyone is too terrified to pop in case it destroys him, or something else horrific like that. He slips from lesson to lesson like Moses parting the waters, with waves of students sidestepping from his path and staring at him with incredulous and concerned expressions. Rose and Lily share glances over the top of his head when they sit with each other between lessons or on the weekends, and his friends all seem to wordlessly communicate through hushed whispers when they think he can’t hear. Even Scorpius, as hard as he tries to hide it, is treating Albus different. Handles him as if he has a fragile sticker pasted over his forehead, speaks to him with gentle tones as if Albus is afraid of loud noises all of a sudden.</p><p>And it <em>annoys</em> him.</p><p>Everything begins to annoy him at the turn of the month, when February fades into March and the rains pass over the hills to be replaced by golden washes of sunlight early in the morning. The sky seems to fade from blue to indigo on the evenings, the clouds hapless brush strokes against the vivid backdrop of colour. Albus’ mood fades from one of quiet optimism to one of sheer agitation.</p><p>Albus blames his major mood shift on the fact <em>Witch Weekly</em> recently released an issue exposing the ‘torrid affair’ his dad apparently had before marrying his mum following the end of the Wizarding War. Everyone knows it is a lie, of course. Or, well, everyone important does. It’s no secret that his parents separated after the War for a while, both needing time to process their grief and their trauma before committing to a serious relationship. His dad, when explaining it to Albus and his siblings (“just in case some journalist ever tries to dig up my past again,” Harry had said, awfully accurately so, it seems), had told them it would’ve been foolish for him and their mum to lean on each other for emotional support when neither of them were mentally <em>okay</em>.</p><p>(Albus feels a little sick recalling that conversation now.)</p><p>The article dropped on a Friday evening, a time normally set aside for the Potter family Two-Way mirror catch ups. So, instead of seeing James and his parents’ faces, Albus was instead sat in his dormitory with Scorpius while the rest of the school buzzed about the news on the other side of the door. Albus despises this continued interest in his family life; he deplores the attention cast on any significant thing that happens to any of them. Weddings, relationships, birthdays, even <em>exam</em> results. There always seems to be a spread in some publication reporting the details of it.</p><p>“I have tea,” Albus looks up as Scorpius limps back into the room. Another thing that has been annoying him recently, the fact Scorpius incurred a slight injury to his leg – as well as his now healed thumb break – during the last Quidditch game and his limp has flared up more than ever before. “And Rose tried to send in some sweets, but Lily said you would prefer these instead.”</p><p>Albus holds out his hands as Scorpius passes him a mug of tea and a plate of ginger biscuits, the top iced with an <em>A</em> in a similar style to the jumpers his family get at Christmas. “Thanks,” Albus smiles. “From my grandma.”</p><p>“I remember, I think,” Scorpius says, crossing his legs as he sits opposite Albus on the window ledge. He pulls a blanket over their legs and stirs sugar into his tea. “She makes them for Christmas, right?”</p><p>Albus nods as he chews half a biscuit. “Christmas and Easter. Everyone gets a personalised cookie and jumper, or cookie and egg. It’s a fun tradition.”</p><p>Scorpius laughs opposite him, wincing a little at the end.</p><p>“You okay?” Albus asks.</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. “My groin hurts a bit more today. I think I’ve done too much walking.”</p><p>Albus frowns.</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Scorpius leans over to kiss Albus. “Don’t worry about me.”</p><p>“How’s Lils?”</p><p>“She’s okay,” Scorpius smiles. “You know her, anyone tries to say anything to her and she threatens to hex them. Pretty sure if her cousin wasn’t Head Girl and I wasn’t Head Boy she’d be in detention by now.”</p><p>Albus nods. “That’s good,” he says. “I feel like I’m being so dramatic.”</p><p>“You’re not.”</p><p>“I <em>feel</em> like I am, though.”</p><p>Scorpius tilts his head to the side. “The stuff they’re saying to you is different to what they’re trying to say to Lily,” he says. “With Lils it’s just, you know, about her family. Which is awful, don’t get me wrong. But what they’re saying to you is personal. It’s about <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“And <em>us</em>.” Albus reminds.</p><p>Scorpius frowns and gently brushes his fingers through Albus’ hair. “Yeah,” he says, voice heavy and sad. “And us. But I don’t care about what people say, Al. Their words go right through me.”</p><p>“I just wish people would stop <em>caring</em>,” Albus says. He rests his head against the wall and stares out the window, idly following a weed that drifts through the lake. “About me, you, us, anything. It’s like… it’s like I don’t get the chance to live or grow or do anything. Because if I’m seen out in Hogsmeade doing something dubiously wrong there’ll be a headline the next day saying how Harry Potter’s failing son is now a tragic delinquent as well as an almost world ruiner. Anything I do gets tagged back to my family, and anything my family do gets tagged back to <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Scorpius pauses. “You’re mad at your dad, aren’t you?”</p><p>Albus groans. “Yes,” he says. “And I’m so mad at my<em>self</em> for being mad at him. It’s like… I knew about this. He told me and Lils and Jamie about this ages ago. So I know it’s not true and I know everything will be fine but sometimes I still find myself getting mad at him for being <em>him</em>. I get mad at everyone around me for being able to live a normal life while I can’t. I’m just so jealous of all the First Years who get to come here with non-famous parents, who get to shape their own identity however they want, who don’t feel trapped in a box that they want to break out of.”</p><p>“If I ask you a question, Al,” Scorpius says. “Will you tell me the truth?”</p><p>Albus looks at him. “Of course.”</p><p>“Do you ever think you’ll stop being mad at him?” Scorpius asks. “You were mad at him when you were eleven, when you were fourteen, when you were in an alternate reality. And even now, eighteen, you’re mad at him. Do you honestly think it’ll ever stop?”</p><p>Albus pauses for a moment. Then he shakes his head.</p><p>“Okay,” Scorpius says. He closes the space between them, resting his nose against Albus’. “Well, no. I don’t think it’s okay, really, but I know it’s a process that you and he have to sort out. I just hope your anger doesn’t turn you into a resentful person.”</p><p>“It won’t,” Albus says, kissing Scorpius’ cheek. “You’re right, it’s just a process. It’ll be fine, eventually.”</p><p>Albus isn’t sure he believes what he says. But he also doesn’t want to think about the alternative; so he just picks up his mug again, dunks a biscuit into the tea, and thinks about anything else that isn’t the mess his life is slowly becoming.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus is so nervous he could be sick. He sits at a table by the window in the Three Broomsticks. His glass of Butterbeer sits untouched in front of him, the foam beginning to mix with the drink and the condensation from the outside pooling around the base, staining the table with icy droplets. Outside the weather is stifling; the earlier rains seem to have faded completely, instead being replaced by sickening heat and cloudless skies. A harmony of blue and blue and blue paints the Earth’s ceiling above him, the sun warm and claustrophobic on his skin, burning the life out of the grass and lighting his hair to caramel shades of brown following hours spent watching Scorpius at Quidditch practice. Albus blames the weather for his sickness, really, or at least part of it. He can hardly breathe, even with his shirt unbuttoned ever so slightly and his sleeves pushed up to above the elbow.</p><p>“Something wrong with your drink, honey?” The bar maid asks as she walks around collecting glasses.</p><p>“Huh? Oh, no. Not at all,” Albus says, fanning himself with a cardboard coaster printed with the words <em>Don’t Drink and Floo!</em> “Stressful day, is all.”</p><p>The bar maid nods, her wand tucked behind her ear. “You do look a little pale, come to think of it,” she says. Albus wants to scoff and tell her that no, actually, he looks pale because he’s running on two and a half hours sleep, and has been for the last few weeks, because of his nightmares. “Oh well. Enjoy your drink, when you get to it.”</p><p>Albus nods and watches her walk off, weaving between the stools and laughing in the direction of patrons who wave at her. He only looks away when the wooden seat opposite him creaks, and sitting on the cushion he sees a red-eyed and dishevelled looking Scorpius Malfoy. His heart sinks.</p><p>“Hey, sugar,” Albus says, shuffling his chair around the circular table to sit right next to Scorpius. “I missed you.”</p><p>Albus kisses Scorpius’ temple, refusing to ask the question he is dying to blurt out, because he knows Scorpius might die if he has to provide the answer. But then Scorpius hides his head in Albus’ chest, and his shoulders begin to shake, and Albus has all the answers he needs right there.</p><p>His arms wind around Scorpius’ body, holding onto him <em>so</em> tightly it hurts. Everything seems to hurt these days. Albus hates it so much. He rubs Scorpius’ back, he kisses his hair, he feels as if he is singlehandedly holding all of Scorpius’ individual pieces together, and that if he lets him go he’ll fall apart in front of him. Dissolve into little specs of dust and disappear out of Albus’ view.</p><p>Under his breath Albus casts a silencing charm, putting them in their own little bubble so no inquisitive individuals from the pub can extend their ear and listen in to their conversation. Again, Albus thinks, he detests the fact this is something he has to consider. His primary thought should be consoling the boy he loves, but <em>no</em>. He has to step back for a moment and cast charms so nobody can hear the next piece of gossip about the Potter-Malfoy entanglement.</p><p>“It went,” Scorpius chokes out two quiet words. “<em>So</em>, so badly.”</p><p>Albus holds him, if possible, even tighter. “How?” He asks.</p><p>“Can I… can I answer that in a bit?” Scorpius asks, his sentence fractured by various hiccoughs mixing with sighs and sobs and sadness. Albus can’t look him in the eye, can’t stand to see the gorgeous grey-blue colour stood out on a red background, sticky train track remains of tears over his cheeks.</p><p>“Of course you can,” Albus says, kissing him once, twice, three times on his head. “You can answer it whenever you want.”</p><p>People come and go. Albus eventually finishes his Butterbeer, with Scorpius downing three glasses of water to rehydrate himself. Albus grabs a tiny vial of Cranium Draught from his backpack when Scorpius’ complains about a headache, his fingers curling around Scorpius’ hair as he tries with all his might to comfort him.</p><p>They leave the Three Broomsticks at the strike of five in the afternoon, hidden under the thin material of the invisibility cloak as they head towards the hilltop beside the Shrieking Shack. Albus lies the cloak beneath them to act as a blanket, sat with his legs crossed and his eyes glued to the building while Scorpius drags a stick through the dirt, sniffing occasionally and sighing even more frequently.</p><p>“They told me I don’t have the emotional composure to become a Healer.” Scorpius finally says. He has his head in his hands when Albus looks at him, and Albus knows he is crying again.</p><p><em>So</em> much pain. Albus is sick of it all.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Albus asks.</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. “Who fucking knows,” he swears. As he blinks, more tears fall, lit up by the butterscotch glow cast on them by the sinking sun in the distance. “They just kept insisting that because of my ‘life experiences thus far’ and my ‘St. Mungo’s record’ which, by the way, I always thought was confidential information, that I wouldn’t be appropriate for training. Basically, from the way I see it, they’re saying I’m too sensitive and emotional and <em>unreliable</em> to become a Healer, which is a joke. Because, you know, I <em>know</em> that I’ve had it rough, and that maybe my limp makes me look weak and that my sensitivity being quite high because of all the trauma and loss I’ve experienced makes it look like I lack emotional control, but I’m still here, right? I’m still passing all my exams at school and getting glowing recommendations from the staff, right?”</p><p>Albus simply sits and listens as Scorpius gets it all off his chest. If there’s one thing he’s learned throughout their years as friends and more, it’s that when Scorpius is talking about his feelings, he will <em>talk</em> about them until he runs out of breath.</p><p>“And it’s just such a godforsaken mess, Albus. Isn’t it? Like, my home life self-destructed when my mother died, my mental health destructed when I was fucking <em>tortured</em> in the grounds of my <em>school</em>, and now my potential career is destructing because why in Merlin’s name shouldn’t it? Why should I be allowed to prove myself beyond the mistakes and tragedies that have happened in my past? Why should I even have the chance to prove myself as something worth more than my weight in tears? Clearly, because I shake sometimes as a side effect of being tortured, because I cry sometimes when I miss my mother, because I jump when someone mentions unforgivable curses, because I get upset when someone mentions the name of the student who I had to watch <em>die </em>without being able to do anything, I’m just deemed inappropriate for any job. So seven years of my education is now at a dead-end, because I can’t even apply for Healer training. All because I – Scorpius <em>fucking</em> Malfoy – have had a tough fucking life.”</p><p>Albus isn’t sure whether Scorpius’ tears are that or anger or sadness by the time he’s finished. All he knows is this: Scorpius is not okay, neither is he himself. And he doesn’t know how they’re going to get through this. Always, for their entire friendship and relationship, Albus has known that any problem they encounter will have some sort of solution to find.</p><p>But this? Scorpius’ dream career shattering in front of him, neither of them having a fraction of an idea what to do after they leave Hogwarts, with only the dust clouds of their deteriorating relationship to hold onto once they board the train back to London? This isn’t something Albus thinks will work out.</p><p>“I’m so sorry.” Is what Albus – foolishly – says.</p><p>Scorpius looks at him out the corner of his eye. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”</p><p>“I have, Scorpius. You know I have,” Albus murmurs. “But you’ll yell at me if I try and say <em>why</em> this is all my fault again. So I won’t.”</p><p>“Albus,” Scorpius sounds utterly defeated. “No. <em>No</em>. She manipulated you. She saw that you were vulnerable and exploited it. None of what happened was your fault.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> listened to her. I was eavesdropping beforehand. I went along with it all. I’m the one who didn’t listen to you.”</p><p>“<em>Stop</em> it, Albus.”</p><p>“I <em>can’t</em>,” Albus says. “I just can’t, Scorp. But that… none of that is important right now. We don’t need to think about that, or her, right now.”</p><p>“So what are we meant to think about?” Scorpius asks. He lies down on the cloak with his hands behind his head, staring at the sky, the blue vastness turned bleak in the grey of his eyes. “If we aren’t thinking about the mess that our past has been, are we thinking about what a mess our futures are turning into?”</p><p>Albus looks at Scorpius. Scorpius looks back, and they finally meet each other’s gaze for the first time that afternoon. “I… I don’t know.”</p><p>“Neither do I.” Scorpius admits.</p><p>Albus lies down next to him, staring at the endless nothingness above him. “Let’s just… not think about anything right now.”</p><p>“Not even about each other?” Scorpius asks.</p><p>Albus doesn’t answer. Just rolls his head to the side and rests it against Scorpius’ shoulder.</p><p>If you ask Albus at what moment he knew their story together was coming to an end, the moment he felt in his soul that he would eventually have to break his own heart in the process, he would say it was this. Lying next to the only person in the world he thought he could ever love, the sun rich on their skin and their fingers touching each other by their sides. The cloud of love above them cracking open into a storm of uncertainty and inevitable pain. This was the moment. This <em>is</em> the moment, so Albus relishes in the warmth of Scorpius beside him, the safety of his touch, the unbound, infinite depth of his love.</p><p>Because, deep down, he knows things won’t be like this ever again.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Scorpius has his head in Albus’ lap, eyes shut as he dozes through what Albus hopes is a dreamless sleep. The green and golden landscape of Scotland blurs to simple smears of indistinguishable nothingness outside the window, the Hogwarts Express a scarlet enigma among a sea of neutral shades. Albus brushes his fingers through Scorpius’ hair, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the wall in front of him.</p><p>He feels completely shattered in every definition of the word. Exhausted, both physically and mentally. Embalmed in a waxy layer of sadness, his muscles trapped and his words only spoken half-heartedly. Falling into a thousand little Albus-shaped pieces, leaving a trail behind him as he walks from place to place, performing the role of supportive brother or loving boyfriend or humorous friend on command.</p><p>His nightmares follow him like a shadow. Biting at his heels, moving when he does, suffocating him like a black haze when the sun sets and suddenly there is no distinction between himself and the shadow; at the sinking of the sun they meld into one being, and Albus becomes this empty shell of a human he doesn’t even recognise. He feels as if he hasn’t slept in days, shackles around his ankles weighing him down, salt in his eyes that he has to cry out every evening.</p><p>“James is going to see right through this façade, you know that right?”</p><p>Albus jumps. He blinks, and, as if by magic, Lily appears in front of him. Sitting with her legs crossed on the seat – careful to keep her shoes off the cushions, though – and her fingers delicately picking at her split ends.</p><p>“When in Merlin’s name did you walk in?”</p><p>Lily shrugs. “Like, five minutes ago?” She says. He sees her look down at Scorpius, then they look at each other. “They’re all going to see right through it.”</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Lily rolls her eyes. “Are you done acting like you’re the only one who sees that something is really wrong here?” She asks, scoffing when Albus merely shrugs again. “You do realise that all of us, Scorpius included, know you’re not okay, right? You’re an awful actor, we’ve all known for months that something is up. We just haven’t said anything because you shout at people when they ask if you’re okay.”</p><p>“I don’t do that.”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Lily asks.</p><p>Albus glares at her.</p><p>“See,” she says, gesturing vaguely in Albus’ direction. “You get defensive when people question you. So we just… never ask. We figure that when you’re ready to talk about it you’ll come to one of us, but it’s been months and you haven’t.”</p><p>“There’s nothing to talk about.”</p><p>“That’s another thing,” Lily says, flicking her hair behind her ear once she’s done. “You never used to lie before.”</p><p>Albus rubs a hand over his face. “I’m not lying,” he says. Lily stares at him. “Okay, so like. Maybe I twist the truth a little bit sometimes, but it’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“I’m not even going to entertain you right now, because we both know it is a big deal,” Lily says, brushing her hands over her skirt as she stands up. “Anyway, I just came to warn you that James is going to see right through your lies and your defensiveness the minute we get home, so. Prepare yourself for some sort of intervention.”</p><p>Albus sighs. “You can leave now.”</p><p>Lily sticks her tongue out at him. “Bye, Albus.”</p><p>The door slides to a close behind her. Albus bites on his tongue to stop himself from making any sort of sound, as to not wake Scorpius. He pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut, breathing through the wave of sadness that passes through him.</p><p>Albus presses his nose to Scorpius’ forehead, wishing he could switch places with him and have a few hours of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Just a few moments where he can breathe, where he can fade from view. Just a few moments, it’s all he wants.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Honey,” his mum cups Albus’ face with her hands. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Albus looks at Lily out of the corner of his eye. Her eyebrow raised, arms crossed. Almost daring him to lie to his mother. Much to her disappointment, though, in this specific situation of truth or dare, Albus would rather pick the dare.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Albus says, hugging her with incredible might. “Just didn’t sleep too well last night.”</p><p>Albus hears Ginny sigh contentedly over his shoulder. “Well, that’s okay,” she says. “Last night before coming home was always tough for me. Where’s Scorpius? I’d love to see him before we leave.”</p><p>“Mum,” Albus chuckles. “He’s coming to stay in a week.”</p><p>Ginny shrugs, dusting her hands over Albus’ shoulders when she lets him go. “I know that,” she says. “But we can’t leave without saying bye to him, can we?”</p><p>“I guess not.” Albus says, busying himself with his trunk so he doesn’t have to see his mum’s expression change from joy to confusion.</p><p>⚡</p><p>
  <em>Albus,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Came across that quote, made me think of you. The romantic in me wonders if you would agree, but the realist in me thinks maybe you don’t. I’m unsure, but still. I miss you. And I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, always,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scorpius.</em>
</p><p>⚡</p><p>
  <em>Scorpius,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of course I agree.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’d describe it as realising you’ve lost your quill. Something you don’t expect to be so impactful, but then you realise how dependent you are on it, and how you really can’t keep living your life without it. I miss you like I miss a quill when I need one the most. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I miss you every second of the day, I swear I do. Forgetting the metaphors and the lovey-dovey language. I miss you, plain and simple.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, always,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Albus.</em>
</p><p>⚡</p><p>
  <em>Albus,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good. I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Scorpius.</em>
</p><p>⚡</p><p>Easter morning at the Burrow is something that grows tiresome after the age of eight. The egg hunt at the crack of dawn and the traditional blueberry pancake breakfast where everyone goes around the table and opens their personalised egg and says five things they’re grateful for – which, honestly, has always confused Albus; this isn’t Thanksgiving, and they aren’t even American, but anyway – is fun for a while, but the novelty has all but worn off by now.</p><p>Adding in the fact that there is a thin layer of mist over the grass and Albus only had two hours sleep last night, he isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of trudging about in wellington boots only to have to sacrifice half of his haul to the younger Potter-Weasley-Lupin-Granger-Delacour family members the second they get back inside.</p><p>In what should be a positive thought, though: Scorpius is arriving just after nine, so at least Albus will have some company for which he is grateful.</p><p>“Has everyone got their baskets ready?” Molly Weasley asks, her rain hat covering her messy expanse of grey hair. She waits to hear the general consensus, quiet confirmations and shyly nodded heads, before opening the door to the garden.</p><p>Everyone tumbles out over the doorframe and begins to look under plant pots, around the corners, through the wildly overgrown grass, swatting left and right with their hands to try and grab an egg here or there.</p><p>Albus, his hand-me-down boots stopping just short of his knees and hood pulled tightly over his head, is half-heartedly looking behind the garden shed when James bumps into him from the other side.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” James says, far too nonchalantly for their collision to have been an accident. His basket is already half full, and Albus makes a mental reminder to report him to Molly later, because his brother has <em>definitely </em>used a summoning charm to get so many so quickly. “Haven’t seen you much this week.”</p><p>“Well, James,” Albus deadpans, picking up a pastel striped egg to put in his basket. “Some of us have exams to be revising for, so we can’t exactly chill and play Quidditch in the garden all day every day.”</p><p>James rolls his eyes and slings an arm around Albus’ shoulder. “Chill, Al,” he says. “You’re going to burn yourself out, otherwise.”</p><p>“Burn myself out?” Albus asks, shrugging off James’ arm, idly swiping his foot through the long grass.</p><p>“You look like you’ve barely slept a wink,” James comments, his basket swinging up and down, up and down as he follows Albus. “You’ll hardly be well enough to sit the exams if you run yourself dry revising.”</p><p>“Do you have a point to make?” Albus questions. “Or are you just trying to be an irritant this morning?”</p><p>James lets out a low whistle, scratching the bridge of his nose as the two of them walk further away from the mass of relatives gathering in the grass. “Someone’s in a mood.”</p><p>“Maybe someone is sick of everyone talking to him like he’s a kid,” Albus snaps. “And hovering over him like he’s some damsel in distress.”</p><p>“You’re accusing me of something I’m clearly not doing, Al.”</p><p>“Did Lily tell you something, or what? Did Rose?” Albus asks. The denim of his jeans darkens as he sinks further into the long, spindly grass, the early morning dew staining his knees and chilling his bones. “Is that why you’re trying to target me away from the rest of the family, so you can try and accost me, or something?”</p><p>James drags his eyebrows together. “Nobody has said anything to me, Al,” he says, slow and deliberate. “Why? Is there something that I should know?”</p><p>“No.” Albus says, too quickly, too defensively.</p><p>James nods. The two of them wander through the field, pausing to pick up some eggs and discard of some gnomes that sneak into their baskets as they pause to watch the sun climb higher into the ochre sky. Albus feels James look to him every now and again, feels the questions and concerns radiating off him, the words forming spirals of smoke that ooze off him and float into the atmosphere.</p><p>“Is Scorpius okay?”</p><p>Albus turns to stare at him. “What?”</p><p>James shrugs. “You know,” he says. “Is Scorp okay?”</p><p>“Yes, he’s fine,” Albus says. “Why would you ask that?”</p><p>“I just haven’t seen you writing much, only a couple of letters here and there, and you normally write several times a day during the holidays,” James explains with a shrug. “I just thought maybe that was what’s bothering you.”</p><p>“Nothing is bothering me.”</p><p>“Look, before this whole hunt I would’ve believed you,” James says. “But now? After you’ve spent the whole hour getting defensive when I so much as look at you? I don’t really believe a single word that’s coming out of your mouth at the moment, Al.”</p><p>“Will you get off my back, James? What gives you the right to suddenly pry into my business just because I’m not doing <em>one</em> single thing as much as I normally do?”</p><p>James chuckles, a sort of breathless and incredulous one. “You need to calm down, Albus,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not on your back, nor am I prying into your business. I’m literally asking a couple of questions because, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m your brother, and I know you. Oh, also, we share a room while we’re here, and if I was feeling cruel I would tell mum and dad about your nightmares which have started up again. Am I right?”</p><p>Albus looks at him. “Please don’t tell them,” he says. “<em>Please</em>, Jamie. I’m sorry. It’s just – things are rough right now. Please just don’t say anything about it to them.”</p><p>“I’m not going to,” James says. Albus sighs, gladly. “Look, I’m not going to hound you, because that doesn’t work. And it sucks that getting you to talk about your feelings is harder than squeezing blood out of a stone. But there’s clearly something going on up there,” he gestures vaguely to Albus’ head. “And it’s not doing you any good. The fact you’re worried Lily or Rose may have told me something makes me pretty damn sure something <em>has</em> happened at school, which you don’t want anyone back home to find out about.”</p><p>“Please stop,” Albus whispers, turning away from James as to hide his expression of pure resignation. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Wait, Al,” James says, his voice suddenly soft and woven with fibres of concern. His hand is on Albus’ shoulder, turning him gently around. Then Albus lets himself fall into his brother’s hold, arms around James’ waist and James’ own rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you cry.”</p><p>Albus shakes his head. “It’s not you,” he murmurs. “It’s me.”</p><p>James snickers a little. “Classic breakup line there, little brother.”</p><p>Albus tries to smile, but can’t.</p><p>The two of them stand there, backlit against the rising sun and stationary among the world of creatures that rise around them; birds beginning to sing from their trees, a harmonious dawn chorus, insects clicking, water running. Albus wants it all to stop, just for a moment. That’s <em>all</em> he wants: one sheer moment of quiet and bliss.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Scorpius arrives at quarter past nine. He is passed back and forth between every member of Albus’ extended family, engaging in chivalrous conversation and nodding in response to their endless questions about life as Head Boy and how his future is looking and whether he is excited to finally be done with education.</p><p>Albus waits in the back garden, leaning against the wall, glass of lemonade between his fingers. He is the prize at the end of the road, the light at the end of the tunnel, and Scorpius’ face matches those sentiments as he tumbles out the doorway and looks from side to side to find Albus.</p><p>“Hey, you,” Albus says, arms automatically winding around Scorpius’ neck as they, two lonely halves, once again form the almost perfect whole. “I’ve missed you so much.”</p><p>Scorpius squeezes him. “I’ve missed you,” he says, lips pressing kisses to Albus’ shoulder. “You have to suffer a week with me now, though.”</p><p>“Time with you is never time spent suffering, Scorp,” Albus says. He brushes his thumb over Scorpius’ cheekbone and kisses him. “It’s the best time of my life.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>The week is a mosaic of what a perfect relationship <em>could</em> look like, except there are gaps between the pasted in photographs and a disjointed narrative to the entire piece. Like a Picasso, maybe, where you look at the painting and can tell it is supposed to be a portrait, but something is so oddly grotesque about the wrong proportions and unusual colours that you <em>feel</em> something isn’t quite right there.</p><p>They kiss in the evenings and play board games during the day. They share glasses of lemonade while sat on the slabs in the garden, watching the family play Quidditch or Gobstones and Muggle games like a ring toss or tag. Albus rests his head on Scorpius’ shoulder, Scorpius whispers sweet nothings to him at different points during the day. The two of them shrug when questioned about their post-graduation plans, and Scorpius always appreciatively squeezes Albus’ hand under the table when he somehow manages to brush over the subject of Healing school.</p><p>James and Lily and Rose simmer around the perimeter. Albus’ nightmares become harder to hide when Scorpius is there sleeping alongside him. He hovers on a chocolate and sugar cloud as the treats of Easter come and go, along with fleeting appearances from his Uncle Charlie and godmother Luna. Albus thinks he’s doing okay at convincing himself, and everyone else, that he’s okay.</p><p>Until the Friday evening before they go back to Hogwarts. That’s when it all goes wrong.</p><p>⚡</p><p>The windows to Albus’ bedroom open directly onto the endless hills and forests isolating the Potter cottage from the rest of the world. There are sycamores and willows and oak trees standing tall and strong despite the rain, their jade leaves drooping with the weight of the droplets, shining like glass under the syrupy moonlight that breaks through the clouds.</p><p>Albus sits opposite Scorpius as they play a late night game of chess. It’s their first night back at the Potter house following the days spent at the Burrow, and Albus is equal parts glad and afraid to be here with Scorpius again. After all, this is the room where things changed for him in December. Something in this room sparked the once dead candle wick in his brain, lighting the memories of <em>that</em> evening into a vibrant flame once more. This room – these four walls he’s built up over eighteen years to represent safety and happiness and joy – betrayed him.</p><p>And now Scorpius is in front of him, fingertips pressed together as he ponders his next move. Except he’s not just pondering his next move, Albus knows this. He’s also pondering how to phrase the question both of them have been avoiding for months now. Albus can’t blame him, honestly. Scorpius had sat by his side and been preposterously patient with him while he tried to work everything out inside his head, never pushing too hard or demanding anything of him; Albus isn’t sure he would’ve been able to do the same for Scorpius. He doesn’t have that patient quality of Scorpius’ that he adores so much.</p><p>“Your move.” Scorpius says. He hides his face in the crook of his arm as he sneezes.</p><p>“Bless you,” Albus murmurs, wringing his hands in front of him as he looks across the board and decides which piece to move next. Albus isn’t good at imagining the future, seeing a few steps ahead. If he acquired that sort of intelligence he would able to work out different paths and different results of the match depending on which piece he moves, but that’s not who he is. He’s a here and now kind of person, and so he moves his bishop. “Your move.”</p><p>Scorpius nods. They go back and forth, tiptoeing around each other on the board and in reality, their utterances short and their glances unmatched. Albus stares at Scorpius while he isn’t looking; Scorpius stares at him in the same way.</p><p>Their game ends with Albus winning. Albus blows a kiss across the space, and Scorpius laughs in response. Scorpius grabs a blanket off the foot of the bed while Albus taps his wand on the board, watching as the pieces glue back together and pack themselves back into the box, floating over to the bottom shelf of his bookcase where all his board games belong.</p><p>Albus leans over to kiss Scorpius for the first time that evening; Scorpius stops him with a hand to his chest, his thumb brushing gently right over Albus’ heart.</p><p>“We need to talk.” Scorpius says.</p><p>Albus freezes. “That’s a horrible sentence.”</p><p>“I know,” Scorpius continues. “But you know as well as I do that something is… awry… and as much as I love you and care for you and respect you, I honestly can’t just sit here anymore and pretend like it’s not concerning me.”</p><p>Albus leans back against his bed frame, fiddling with his fingers as he looks at Scorpius. “I thought it would pass, and that I wouldn’t have to talk about it.”</p><p>“What’s <em>it</em>, Al?”</p><p>Albus gestures vaguely in the air. “<em>It</em>, everything. The problem. My sadness.”</p><p>“Your sadness?” Scorpius asks, his lips twisting into a slight frown. “Sadness with what? Life? School? Me?”</p><p>“No,” Albus says, pausing afterwards. “I don’t know. Yes, maybe?”</p><p>Scorpius freezes, staring at him. Albus swears Scorpius isn’t breathing, completely rigid all of a sudden; like Albus’ hesitation has turned him to stone. “I’m making you sad?”</p><p>“No!” Albus says, possibly too loudly. Both of them look to his closed door, sitting silently to see if any footsteps sound. When none do, Albus continues. “You don’t make me sad, I promise.”</p><p>“Then what is making you sad?” Scorpius asks. <em>Begs</em>. “Because… I <em>know</em> you’ve been sad since December. When you stopped answering my letters before Christmas. I knew you were sad but I didn’t want to ask since you normally tell me after a while, but it’s been, like, four months. And you still haven’t said anything. I feel <em>awful</em> trying to force–”</p><p>Albus shakes his head and puts his hands on Scorpius’ knees. “You’re not forcing me, I swear. You have nothing to feel horrible about, you’ve done nothing wrong,” he explains, his throat closing more with each word he speaks. “I’ve just… I’ve been such a coward, I guess? I panicked when I started feeling sad, because I didn’t want to have to drag you back down into the dirt after you’ve been doing so well this year. You seemed so happy being focused on school and Head Boy and Quidditch that I just couldn’t barge in and dump my problems on you again.”</p><p>“You’re more important than <em>all</em> of that, Albus. You always have been,” Scorpius whispers, though each word is crystal clear in the silence of the night. “I would’ve dropped all of it to have been there for you if that’s what it took.”</p><p>“But I didn’t want that, Scorp. I didn’t want to stop you living your life.”</p><p>“You <em>are</em> my life.”</p><p>“You’re mine too,” Albus insists. The two of them sit in silence for a moment. Albus picks up his glass of water and drinks the remains, his throat scratchy and sore from the strained whispers he’s having to use to speak. “I had a nightmare in December. A really, <em>really</em> bad one.”</p><p>Scorpius’ body deflates. His spine curves, his frown deepens. There is a softness to his posture, a fragility in his eyes; everything Albus dreaded. “Oh, no,” he says. “Like… like your old nightmares?”</p><p>Albus nods. He scratches the side of his nose and stares at the floor, watching the flickering shadows cast by the candle on his bedside table. “Worse than my old ones. Or, well,” he corrects himself. “As bad as the early ones.”</p><p>“Is that the only one? The one in December?” Scorpius nods.</p><p>Albus shakes his head, a barely there tilt from side to side. “There’s been so many. I don’t know, like. I have no idea what started them up again. It was only once or twice a week to begin with, but it’s been almost daily the last month or so.”</p><p>“I wish you would’ve told me.”</p><p>Albus sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Honestly, the last thing I wanted to do was tell you. Not because I don’t trust you, or anything like that. I’m just sick of being the reason why your life is more fucked up than it was when we met. If you hadn’t met me, you wouldn’t have been as badly bullied, you wouldn’t have watched Craig die, wouldn’t have been <em>tortured</em>. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you because that would force you to relive everything, too. And I’m… I’m <em>so</em> tired, Scorpius. I’m so tired of reliving it every time I go to sleep, I didn’t want to bring it into real life again.”</p><p>“I wish you’d stop acting like I’m… some kind of prop in your life, Al. That everything bad that happens is your fault. Because it’s <em>not</em>,” Scorpius says. “I’d follow you to the end of the Earth, and that meant following you to her. What happened in Fourth Year is as much my fault as yours. But we agreed to work through it together.”</p><p>“I know we did. But it’s been three years, and I’m still at square one.”</p><p>“There’s no timeline for getting over your trauma.”</p><p>“But there should be a limit to how much I let it impact people other than <em>me</em>,” Albus says, prodding himself in the chest. “I’m just so sick of looking around and seeing things that remind me of it all. The Calming Draught bottles downstairs, the letters from the Healers and from Madam Pomfrey–”</p><p>“And me?”</p><p>Albus looks back at Scorpius. “What?”</p><p>“You said you’re sick of looking around and seeing things that remind you of that night,” Scorpius repeats. “I was there on that night. So surely looking at me reminds you of it, too.”</p><p>Albus doesn’t say anything.</p><p>Scorpius lets out an exasperated, humourless laugh. “Oh, Merlin,” he whispers. “It does, doesn’t it? I remind you of it?”</p><p>“No, not <em>you</em> exactly.”</p><p>“Then <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I don’t know! Your limp, for example, maybe?” Albus whines, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s not looking at you that does it, it’s seeing how different you are <em>now </em>that does. The limp, your pain, the scars on your wrists from the Fulgari spell.”</p><p>Scorpius looks at his hands, pulling his sleeves down to hide his skin from view. “How long have you been feeling like this? Since December?”</p><p>Albus swallows thickly. Then he nods. And it hurts.</p><p>“Oh. <em>Oh</em>,” Scorpius shuffles back ever so slightly. He presses the back of his hand to his forehead. Albus sees his chest rise and fall faster than usual. “Okay. Um, I’m so sorry? I really… I don’t know what to say, except I’m so sorry. It crushes me knowing it’s been like this for you for months.”</p><p>“No, stop,” Albus says. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”</p><p>“Well something has obviously gone horribly wrong somewhere, Al. If you can’t look at me without remembering our friend being killed and me being tor… you know,” Scorpius’ voice catches in his throat. “But, um, okay. So, how are we going about fixing this?”</p><p>Albus tilts his head to the side. “Fixing this?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scorpius says, his voice airy, as if his comment is common sense. “Fixing this. Stopping your nightmares, controlling your anxiety.”</p><p>“I don’t think you can fix it.”</p><p>“No, don’t say that,” Scorpius murmurs. “There’s a fix to everything.”</p><p>“That’s not what I mean, Scorp,” Albus says, his voice slow and painfully loud in the dead of the night. “I don’t think there’s anything <em>you</em> can do to fix it. This… this isn’t your responsibility. It shouldn’t be on your shoulders to fix me every time I’m broken.”</p><p>Scorpius freezes again. An ice sculpture, this time. White in the face, cool in the eyes. “I’m your boyfriend, Albus,” he says. “Of course it’s my job to try and help you get better.”</p><p>“I think I’m too far gone this time around.”</p><p>The pin drops. Their breathing is loud, ragged and sad and bouncing off the walls in odd patterns.</p><p>“Please don’t do this,” Scorpius’ voice is tight once more. “Please, Albus.”</p><p>“And I think you’re too far gone, too,” Albus continues, his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to look at Scorpius. “I feel like you’re hiding behind school and Quidditch, because you <em>know</em> if you stop for one minute you’ll realise that it’s all <em>right</em> behind you.”</p><p>“Stop it,” Scorpius murmurs. “Please. Does it matter if I’m doing that?”</p><p>Albus nods. “You know it does.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>care</em>, Al,” Scorpius sounds utterly exasperated. “All I care about is you.”</p><p>“All I care about is you, too,” Albus repeats. “And that’s <em>not</em> okay.”</p><p>Scorpius holds his head in his hands. The rain picks up outside, a gentle gust of late night breeze whipping through the window and prickling over Albus’ skin. “I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” Scorpius says. “I… I can’t believe you’re going to end this.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Scorpius.”</p><p>“I love you <em>so</em> much, Al.”</p><p>He swallows thickly. “I love you so much, too.”</p><p>Albus traces the scars around his wrists, the twig-like lines bumping all over his skin, completely white like streaks of paint inked into his body as if deliberately placed there. A tattoo, perhaps. An artistic choice. Something he wanted, <em>desired</em>. Chose.</p><p>“I’m not sure what to do now,” Scorpius breaks the silence. Albus looks up and stares at him. Stares at this enigmatic joy of a human being wrapped in a blanket his Grandma Molly knitted as a Christmas present for Albus years ago. Scorpius’ cheeks sticky, parallel train track dampness bisecting his cheeks into two equal halves. “I mean… this was everything. <em>This</em> was it all for me.”</p><p>Albus tucks his hands underneath him as to not irritate his scars, instead taking to counting the glow-in-the-dark stickers pasted to his ceiling, forming his favourite constellations. “It was everything to me, too.”</p><p>“Then <em>why</em>,” Scorpius’ voice sounds like static, as if he is speaking through a radio from some far away distance. A different planet. A different universe. “Why are you letting it end?”</p><p>Albus blinks and relishes in the darkness. The silence, bar the gentle taps of rain on his window, fills his soul. He thinks he could be anywhere in the world if he wanted, in some deep tangle of woods getting lost among willow trees and following a distant woodpecker’s calls. Stood on a shoreline, toes sunk in sand and the salty sea air glueing to his skin and weaving between the strands of his hair. On top of a mountain. Submerged in a foot of snow. <em>Anywhere</em> but here.</p><p>“Because I can’t keep pretending like this is healthy,” Albus says, eventually. “I love you <em>so</em> much it drives me up the wall. You’re in my head every second of the day, and I love that so much. But…”</p><p>“But?” Scorpius urges him on. “But what? You’re sick of me? You’re bored of me? What?”</p><p>“<em>No,</em>” Albus insists. “Never that.”</p><p>“Then <em>what</em>, Albus?”</p><p>Albus swallows. “I love you so much but I can’t allow this relationship built on grief to continue, because I know it won’t last forever when we have done <em>nothing</em> to look after ourselves. We… we <em>never</em> got enough help for what we went through, you said it yourself back in November. We had those sessions with the Healers, we told our parents we were fine and just jumped back into school, into life, into each other. Stopped any form of therapy we were in the second it wasn’t compulsory for us to go anymore. It was… it was as if we thought by pretending nothing happened and just trying to proceed with the next chapter of our life that we would move past the grief and the trauma, and that’s not good.”</p><p>“But it’s okay, Albus. It’s <em>fine</em>. You make me forget the trauma. It’s like… it’s like being around you cuts off the rest of the world, and it’s perfect.”</p><p>“That’s not perfect, though. Forgetting the pain is only okay <em>after</em> you’ve worked through it and can move on. You’re not forgetting the trauma, Scorp, you’re ignoring it. This whole… this <em>us</em> thing was just another way of pushing it all away, acting like nothing happened. Love born from pain, or whatever. It doesn’t work.”</p><p>“It worked for your parents. Your aunt and uncle. Basically everyone we know,” Scorpius insists. Each sentence he utters twists the dagger further into Albus’ heart. It’s a pain he can’t quite describe. Not like the pain of being cursed, or kicked, or injured. Where it hurts in one specific area, in one specific way. This is a cut-throat type of pain, convulsing in his blood, slipping through his fingers. “Every great love story of this modern Wizarding world was born from fucking <em>war</em>, Albus.”</p><p>Albus breathes out a humourless laugh. “You’re blind, Scorpius.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Those loves never <em>worked</em>. At least, not until every single one of them sat down and realised they needed to fix themselves before trying to make it work,” Albus says. “My dad saw three Muggle therapists – against the wishes of the Ministry – before he began seriously dating my mum. My aunt and uncle separated for a while because they couldn’t look at each other without being reminded of my uncle Fred, and how he died while they weren’t there. Your parents didn’t find each other until years after the war, after Draco had vanished off the face of the earth and lived solitary days in a cottage in Scotland, with his mother, grieving a world he didn’t try to stop from existing.”</p><p>“So is that what you want, huh?” Scorpius asks. “A few months apart to get some more therapy and to lay some flowers on Craig’s grave?”</p><p>“Why do you sound so bitter, Scorpius?”</p><p>“Because you’re tearing apart the <em>one</em> stable thing I have in my life right now, Albus. Without giving me a chance to fix it, without really telling me why,” Scorpius <em>seethes</em>. His voice is a shuddering accumulation of fear and sadness and resentment and still, at the root of it all, desperate love. “Please, Albus. Tell me what you want me to do to make it work. I thought we were fine. I thought we were <em>radiant</em>. You never gave me any sign of anything being wrong, despite me asking several times and telling you that you could trust me. I don’t know who I am if I don’t have you.”</p><p>“That’s the problem, Scorp,” Albus says. “I don’t know who I am without you, either. And that terrifies me. We can’t depend on each other like that, it’s just not healthy.”</p><p>Scorpius stares at him. “Who do you think you are making decisions on <em>my</em> behalf? <em>I</em> can’t depend on <em>you</em>? Who says that’s a choice you get to make?”</p><p>“That’s not what this is, Scorpius. I’m not trying to do that,” Albus says, his thumb nervously running over the buckle on his watch strap. “I would never try and speak for you, ever.”</p><p>“I <em>need</em> you,” Scorpius all but begs. “I lost my mother, I can’t lose you as well.”</p><p>“You’re not <em>losing</em> me.”</p><p>“You aren’t seriously going to sit there and pretend like nothing is going to change after you do this, are you?” Scorpius asks. “Don’t play dumb, Albus. Of course I’m losing you, and you’re losing <em>me</em>, too.”</p><p>“But we don’t have to lose each–”</p><p>“Albus,” Scorpius interrupts. He pauses for a moment as a light switches on in the bathroom, footsteps creeping over the hardwood floor before returning to their bedroom moments later. “This isn’t just something you can backtrack on. You can’t go from best friends to <em>this</em> back to best friends again. Don’t you get that? You can’t choose to leave me and then expect me to sit next to you at breakfast with the stinging realisation I can’t hold your hand anymore. To suddenly revert back to sleeping bags on the floor instead of sharing a bed. That’s just… that’s not how it works. If you’re done with us then you’re done with <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Albus blinks and a tear races down his cheek. He brushes it away with the sleeve of James’ Quidditch jumper. “I hate that phrase,” he murmurs. “I’m not <em>done</em> with you. That makes it sound like you’re a puzzle, or something, and that I’ve filled in all the blanks and am just throwing you away.”</p><p>“That’s what it feels like you’re doing.”</p><p>Albus looks back to Scorpius. “I’m <em>not</em>.”</p><p>Scorpius shakes his head. “I don’t want to keep having this conversation tonight.”</p><p>“Oh, okay,” Albus says, pushing his hands on the floor to raise himself to his knees. “I guess… I guess we can go to sleep?”</p><p>“I can’t sleep here, either.”</p><p>Albus snaps his gaze to look at Scorpius. <em>His</em> Scorpius stuffing his rucksack full of books and his toiletry bag and his pyjamas and his odd socks he always wears. “What? Scorpius, it’s midnight. You can’t seriously be going home right now?”</p><p>“Are you breaking up with me?” Scorpius asks. His gaze is fiery in a terrifying way. The Scorpius he is looking at is not the one he has known for years; it’s as if someone has pulled a mask from his face, whispering a gentle <em>voila!</em> as they reveal this new human being.</p><p>Albus blinks. “What?”</p><p>Scorpius repeats, “Are you breaking up with me?”</p><p>A beat of silence. “Yes.”</p><p>Scorpius nods, shouldering his rucksack as he stands up. “Okay,” he says. His voice is tight and controlled, and Albus knows him well enough to understand he’s holding back his emotions until he is alone. It hurts, mainly because Scorpius has never had to do this around Albus before. “Then I can’t stay here overnight anymore. If you’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my friend either. I’m sorry, Albus. I just… I can hardly bring myself to look at you right now.”</p><p>Albus drags the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. “When will I see you again?”</p><p>Scorpius stares at the floor and shrugs. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Okay.” Albus nods.</p><p>Scorpius glances around the room one more time – eyes pausing on framed photographs of himself and Albus on holiday, at Teddy and Victoire’s wedding, in their Hogwarts uniforms – though he completely skirts around Albus’ gaze. Then he turns on the spot and disappears.</p><p>Albus blows out the candle in the lantern. He lies down on his bed, eyes glued to the glow-in the-dark Scorpius constellation tacked to the ceiling right above him, and he cries himself to sleep. <em>What a fool</em>, he thinks. <em>What a true and total fool.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i promise to never break up scorbus ever again</p><p>tumblr: dustyspines</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the privilege</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>It was a privilege<br/>
to love you<br/>
and it was a privilege<br/>
to let you go.<br/>
Both helped shape me<br/>
into who I have<br/>
become.<br/>
</em>- Beau Taplin, <em>The Privilege</em></p><p>⚡</p><p>Everybody knows, but nobody dares to ask.</p><p>Albus sits on the patio in the back garden, mug of tea to one side and a bowl of cereal resting on his lap. He stares at the thicket beyond the white picket fence defining the Potter family property, watching the leaves rustle in the early morning breeze. The dew is glossy on the lawn, the birds orchestrate a chilling chorus, their sweet calls accompanied by the hoarse and loud breaths Albus takes to try and keep himself calm.</p><p>He can feel his parents staring at him through the open door from the kitchen, their eyes burning perfect little circles on the back of his head. Nobody has asked where Scorpius is, but Albus supposes the answer is spellt out in the drowsy, sad movements he has made this morning, his downcast greetings and vacant gaze whenever someone has asked him a question.</p><p>Albus can’t decide whether the lack of questions is good or bad. On one hand, he thinks, no questions means he doesn’t have to relive the utter chaotic mess that the previous evening had turned out to be, and doesn’t have to retell the story of his life falling apart to his family; but, on the other hand, the lack of questions makes him wonder if his family were <em>expecting</em> something to go wrong. If they have been so quick to join together the dots and jump to the conclusion of breakup, surely it must’ve been something on their mind?</p><p>Albus shakes his head and takes a sip of his tea.</p><p>“Hey,” James sits down next to him on the step, shuffling a Muggle deck of playing cards. “Bit cold to be out here, isn’t it?”</p><p>Albus shrugs. “I have tea to keep me warm.”</p><p>James nods; he begins to deal the cards out between them, two individual piles growing higher and higher as Albus watches him. “Fancy a game of snap?”</p><p>Albus smiles ever so slightly. “Do I even have a choice, since you’ve already made the executive decision to deal the cards?”</p><p>“Nope,” James saying, popping the ‘P’ even more so than normal. “So put down your bowl of cereal and play your first card.”</p><p>And the first morning of the rest of Albus’ life starts like that; a collection of bird calls mixing with the laughter from his and James’ card games. Hands smacking on the deck, cheers echoing into the empty sky, a momentary escape from the dullness swelling in his chest.</p><p>⚡</p><p>The platform is packed to the brim, but Albus has never felt lonelier. A murky Sunday morning, whispering grey clouds threatening to burst open into floods of rain at any second are hidden by the plumes of smoke coming from the Express. His trunk on the ground, his father’s hand on his shoulder, nobody by his side.</p><p>“Try to not stress about exams too much,” Harry is saying, fiddling with his watch as they both try to skirt around the delicate topic of Albus’ solitary position on the platform. “And be kind to yourself, okay? You know you can tell us if anything is wrong, right?”</p><p>Albus nods. “I know.”</p><p>“Promise?” Harry asks.</p><p>Albus looks at him. “I’ll see you soon, dad.”</p><p>He lifts himself onto his tiptoes and kisses Harry’s cheek, picking up his trunk before his dad has the opportunity to respond. Albus disappears into smoke and steps onto the train, turning right instead of his usual left, peering into all the compartments like a lonely First Year finding somewhere to sit on their first trip to school. It takes all his restraint to not pick out the invisibility cloak from his trunk and fade from view, transform into a ghost that nobody sees, nobody knows, nobody misses.</p><p>⚡</p><p> “Chocolate frog?”</p><p>Albus looks up from the textbook in his lap to see Lily at the door, already dressed in her robes, two chocolate frog boxes in her hands. He smiles. “Sure,” he says, beckoning her in with a tilt of his head. “Which one’s mine?”</p><p>Lily hands him a box. “This one,” she says. The two of them sit next to each other, momentarily silent as they open their boxes and look for the collectible cards. “Ha, what’re the chances?”</p><p>Albus takes Lily’s card and grins, the photo of their mum winking and shouldering her broomstick. “Never gets less weird, does it?”</p><p>Lily shakes her head. “Never.”</p><p>“Oliver Wood,” Albus says, turning his card over to read the description. “Not too shabby.”</p><p>“I love you so much, Albus,” Lily says out of nowhere, staring into her lap instead of at Albus. Which is odd, Albus thinks, since Lily is always the daring one in the family; the one who is never afraid to say what she thinks to the exact person she is thinking about. “And I know you haven’t explicitly said anything to any of us but we can read you like a book, so it isn’t hard to work out that something has happened between you and Scorpius. And normally I wouldn’t say anything because I don’t want to be the annoying little sister who doesn’t respect her siblings’ privacy, but you’ve looked so sad and lonely the last day or so that I just can’t <em>not</em> say anything about it.”</p><p>“Lils–”</p><p>“No, shut up, Al,” Lily interrupts him. “I know that nobody can say anything to make you feel better, so I’m not even going to try. But I just need you to know that there are lots of other people who love you so much, and that you don’t have to isolate yourself for fear of being annoying or getting in the way or causing problems, because I <em>know</em> that’s something that you will probably do. You have family who love you, friends who love you, a <em>lot</em> of people who care about your happiness. So, I know – or, well, assume – that this is going to be a really hard couple of weeks, but I just want to make sure you know that it isn’t something that you have to tackle all by yourself.”</p><p>Albus smiles, his eyes slightly watery, his fingers fiddling with his watch. “Thanks, Lily,” he says, pulling her into his side. He kisses her head, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and the washing detergent Ginny uses on all their clothes (<em>home</em>, his mind thinks). “I know all of those things, trust me.”</p><p>“Good,” Lily smiles, kissing his cheek. “So… are you going to eat your chocolate frog, then?”</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus’ first few days back at school merge into a compilation of him skirting around the edges of every possible interaction, trying his hardest to slither into the background and become as invisible as possible without using his father’s cloak.</p><p>When he walks into the Great Hall for the welcome back feast he sits in a completely different seat at the table, keeping his eyes glued on McGonagall and not allowing himself to glance at where Scorpius may be sitting. He rushes up to the dormitory and closes the drapes on his bed, isolating himself to the simple, pitch black cuboid box formed by his mattress. He rushes from class to class, taking the long way around to avoid any groups who may look at him slightly funny when they notice him away from Scorpius. When Scorpius approaches their friendship group in the courtyard, Polly and Yann in the middle of retelling a story about their Easter break, Albus excuses himself and heads to the library to read instead.</p><p>He becomes incredibly skilled, incredibly quickly, at making himself disappear without anyone noticing. He allows himself to be swallowed up by books while he works on essays, finds fake reasons to skip out on the Hogsmeade trips, even going as far as to book meetings with his professors to go over content for his exams so he doesn’t have to spend time with anyone. At least, because of this whole mess, he has a higher chance of passing his exams, Albus thinks.</p><p>Word spreads about their breakup exceptionally fast. People stare at him, his ears prickling when they speak about him behind his back. Some daring ones even come up to him at the breakfast table and ask him about it. Albus sees the girls from the library, the ones who were discussing love potions, across the Great Hall one morning. One gives him a sad smile and a shrug, and Albus smiles back. It’s the first normal reaction anyone seems to have had to this news – news that shouldn’t even <em>be</em> news in Albus’ opinion – so it grounds him ever so slightly.</p><p>But, most importantly, Albus manages to get through the days without seeing Scorpius up close. He sees the feathery tips of his hair once in a while, but that is the extent of their interaction. It hurts Albus so much words don’t even come close; he’s found himself rendered speechless on several occasions recently, which annoys him, especially as someone who relies on the power of words to get his point across sometimes.</p><p>His words run empty, though. Almost as empty as he feels on the inside. In the evenings he wonders whether he made the wrong choice calling things off, and is constantly tempted to pull back his bed drapes and confess to Scorpius that he made a huge mistake. But then he’ll fall asleep, and he’ll be back on the Quidditch pitch, and Albus knows when he wakes up – drenched in sweat, his heart racing to the point where he finds himself in physical pain – that he made the right decision.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“This is an intervention,” Polly Chapman says as she sits opposite Albus in the library, her blonde hair twisted into a bun, her cheeks flushed in an enchanting sort of way. Albus barely notices Yann sitting down next to her, his eyes instead glued to Polly and her commandeering energy. “Because we – all of us – miss you so much, and we’re sick of not being able to be here for you.”</p><p>Albus blinks at her. He sets his quill down on his Charms textbook, sitting on his hands so they can’t fidget. He’s found himself engaging in the awful habit of clenching his fists as a means of calming himself down when stressed or unhappy, and, as a result, now has a line of several crescent-moon shaped marks on his skin from where his nails have dug into his palms.</p><p>“Come again?” Albus asks.</p><p>Polly groans. “You’re annoying.”</p><p>“Pol,” Yann murmurs, gently flicking her cheek. “What happened to being nice?”</p><p>“Of course. Sorry, Al,” Polly says. She tucks flyaway hairs behind her ears, resting her head on her hands as she looks over at him. “Look, I can’t pretend to understand what has happened over the last few months that led to you making <em>that</em> decision, but at the end of the day we are your friends, and we are worried about you. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, or what happened, none of that is important to us. We miss <em>you</em>, Albus Potter. Our best friend. So if you could stop being annoying as hell by running off every time we try and have a conversation with you, that’d be great.”</p><p>Albus groans. Someone from the table opposite them shushes him. Polly turns around and sneers at them, throwing some indecent gesture in their direction. Albus wants the world to swallow him whole.</p><p>“I just don’t want to get in the way,” Albus says. “Like, I’m the one who has fucked up the whole dynamic. I should be the one making space, not being a bother, making sure nobody feels uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Nobody is going to feel uncomfortable.” Yann says.</p><p>Polly stares at him. “Seriously, Fredericks?”</p><p>“Oh,” Yann murmurs. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Have you, like, spoken to him at all?” Albus asks.</p><p>“I swear I own the single brain cell in this group.” Polly sighs.</p><p>Albus rolls his eyes, scrunching up a piece of parchment to throw at her. “You know what I mean.”</p><p>“Yes, we have spoken to him. Sort of,” Polly admits, balancing the ball of parchment atop of Yann’s head. “He told us what happened, obviously, because he sat with us on the train and we were confused as to why he wasn’t with you. And, anyway, it would’ve been hard to keep it a secret when you two are normally joined at the hip.”</p><p>Albus frowns. He bites on his tongue to keep himself from getting emotional.</p><p>“But, that’s about it, to be honest,” Polly continues, her eyes burning into Albus’ forehead. “Gave the vaguest details ever; you know, said it was towards the end of Easter, that you ended it, you haven’t spoken since. But he’s obviously not bursting at the seams, desperate to talk about it. I’m sure you understand that.”</p><p>Albus groans, letting his head fall into his textbook. “This is awful,” he mutters into the paper. “This whole thing is awful. I’ve literally ruined my life. There’s no other way about it.”</p><p>“Oh, cut the dramatics, Potter,” Polly rolls her eyes. “Boo-hoo, you broke up with your boyfriend. Shit happens, but you’re only eighteen. We’re <em>all</em> only eighteen. Life doesn’t end when you leave school single, it has barely begun by that point.”</p><p>Albus lifts his head momentarily just to glare at her. She sticks her tongue out in response. “I have one final question,” he says. “And if you answer it honestly, I’ll stop being dramatic and will agree to hang out with you guys again.”</p><p>“Go for it.” Polly says.</p><p>“Is he okay?” Albus asks, fiddling with his hair. “I mean, like, he’s probably not o<em>kay</em>. But does he seem… decent enough?”</p><p>“Decent enough for someone who was just broken up with by their boyfriend of three years?” Polly asks.</p><p>“Merlin, you’re awful,” Yann says, kissing her cheek. “Yes, Albus. He’s as okay as you could expect someone to be after that.”</p><p>“He hasn’t flung himself off the Owlery or drunk a dodgy potion after class, yet. So I guess that’s something.” Polly says.</p><p>Albus throws another sheet of parchment at her. “Shut up, Chappers.”</p><p>“So you’ll agree to sit with us at lunch again?” Polly ignores the parchment, instead retying her tie as she waits for Albus’ answer.</p><p>Albus sighs, closing his textbook as his free period draws to an end and he finds himself needing to dash to the opposite of the castle for class. “Yes, I’ll sit with you guys at lunch.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Polly smiles. She blows him a kiss as the two of them – Polly and Yann, Yann and Polly – stand up. “See you later, then?”</p><p>Albus nods. “See you later.”</p><p>He watches the two of them walk out the library, fingers entwined, heads tilted towards each other as they talk about everything and nothing all at once. <em>Merlin</em>, Albus thinks, surely things can’t get worse than they are right now.</p><p>Surely, <em>surely</em>, he’s at the bottom of the pit. The lowest low. The deepest part of the ocean, feet touching sand, darkness all-encompassing and suffocating as he tries to escape. He truly can’t imagine a situation where his heart would hurt more than it does today, his intangible loneliness dangling in front of him, hypnotising him, lulling him further and further into the pits of sorrow.</p><p>He must be on the way out; he must be past the halfway point in the tunnel of discontent.</p><p>Oh, how wrong he is.</p><p>⚡</p><p>The first time the Albus and Scorpius find themselves alone in a room together since that fateful Friday is late on a Tuesday evening, the Slytherin common room bathed in candlelight, silent save for the gentle crackling of the fire and the scratch of Albus’ quill on parchment.</p><p>Albus is confused as he hears the door open – he <em>swears</em> he’s the only Slytherin awake right now; he’s fine-tuned his skill of knowing where everyone is while being, himself, undetectable – and is even more taken aback as Scorpius’ familiar silhouette steps out of the darkness into the tangerine lantern glow.</p><p>“Hey,” Scorpius says. His voice is taut, a thin string pulled to within seconds of snapping. His enunciation overly specific. Careful, even. “You’re up… late?”</p><p>Albus shrugs. “Could say the same for you.”</p><p>Scorpius huffs out a delicate laugh. “Touché.”</p><p>“I’ll go.” Albus says, screwing the lid on his ink pot. He mentally curses Scorpius, but even more so curses himself for being <em>so</em> delicate he can’t stand to be in the same room as Scorpius. If this essay doesn’t get finished, he’ll only have himself and his vulnerability to blame.</p><p>“Why?” Scorpius asks. Albus notices, then, that Scorpius is carrying his Quidditch rucksack. Which, again, is confusing, since practice finished over two hours ago, and the rest of the team had already shuffled to their respective dormitories to sleep off their aches and pains.</p><p>“I, um, don’t know?” Albus admits. He scratches his nose, midway through packing up his supplies when he finally looks back to Scorpius and meets his eyes. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to be in the same room as me?”</p><p>“That’s a bold assumption to make,” Scorpius says. He steps further into the room, holding his hands over the fire, fiddling with his hair in the reflection of the ornate mirror hung above the mantelpiece. “But I suppose it makes sense of all your actions the last week or so.”</p><p>Albus stares at Scorpius’ back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“You know,” Scorpius shrugs, turning his head to the side to look at Albus over his shoulder. “Being nowhere to be seen on the train, moving to the opposite end of the table at any meal time, finding a way to be absent from the dormitory until it’s just before curfew, disappearing from the friendship group whenever I appear.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Albus says, speaking through gritted teeth. “Was this not the sort of response you expected after telling me that I’m not your friend and that you didn’t want to look me in the face anymore?”</p><p>Scorpius turns on his heel and looks at him, arms crossed, head tilted to the side. “Are you trying to make me feel bad for things I said right after <em>you</em> broke up with <em>me</em>?”</p><p>“No, Scorpius, that’s not what I’m doing,” Albus says, resting his elbows on the coffee table as he stares at Scorpius. It’s a horrible gaze they share, one filled with ice and temptation and dare, but Albus isn’t about to back down. “I’m just trying to explain that I’m respecting the wishes you seemed to make when you vanished on that Friday evening, so I’d appreciate if you weren’t sarcastic about them.”</p><p>“Well, okay,” Scorpius says. “Then all I’m trying to say is that you making these executive decisions on my behalf is nice, and all, but it’s also not necessary.”</p><p>“What executive decisions?”</p><p>“Leaving the room just because I’ve walked in, for example,” Scorpius gestures to Albus’ half tidied pile of belongings to accentuate his point. “If I didn’t want to be near you, Albus, I could walk away myself.”</p><p>Albus stares at him in disbelief. “Who’s saying that I’m making these decisions just for you?” He asks, fiddling with his quill as to give his fingers something to do other than clench into a fist. “You know you’re not the only one dealing with a breakup, right? That you’re not the only one who is upset about it? Did you ever stop and think that maybe I’m leaving the room sometimes because <em>I</em> don’t want to have to see <em>you</em> while I’m still getting over you?”</p><p>“You’re the one who left me, Albus.”</p><p>Albus groans. “You know what’s getting really fucking irritating?” He says. “You, and everyone else, acting like I’m some sort of sinister psychopath who just decided to break up with you for fun, and that because I’m the one who did it, I’m not allowed to have any sort of negative feelings about it. Newsflash, Scorp, I didn’t make that decision because I thought it was fun, which is something I perhaps would’ve had chance to explain had you <em>not</em> just vanished right after.”</p><p>“I’m not going to argue with you.” Scorpius murmurs.</p><p>“Oh, cool. So you’re just going to walk out the room again instead of having a conversation about our problems.”</p><p>“You broke my <em>heart</em>, Albus,” Scorpius seethes. The anger with which Scorpius speaks hurts Albus all the more; he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the tone of Scorpius’ voice when he’s annoyed, especially not when it’s directed at him. “You’re not entitled to my time, or my attention, or <em>anything</em> else right now. You lost all rights to those things when you broke up with me. You made your bed, now lie in it, and let me do what I need to do to get over you.”</p><p>Albus bites the inside of his cheek. “Okay,” he says, so quiet he barely hears himself. “Good night.”</p><p>“Night, Al.”</p><p>Albus listens as Scorpius walks up to their shared dormitory, as he tosses his Quidditch bag by the foot of his bed. A tap turning on in their shared bathroom, his quiet footsteps scratching on the hardwood floor. And, finally, the sound of Scorpius drawing the drapes around his bed. Shutting him off from the rest of the room: shutting him off from Albus.</p><p>Albus stares into the fire, the dying embers spitting smoke into the air and crackling sympathetically to fill the silence, and he lets out a sigh.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus stops in his tracks the minute he walks into the Potions classroom the next morning; he is certain that had Rose not come in right behind him and grabbed him by the wrist, he would’ve walked straight back out again.</p><p>“Is this a joke?” Albus hisses to Rose, gesturing at the words <em>REVISITING AMORTENTIA</em> written on the blackboard in pink chalk. “This has to be a joke, right?”</p><p>“Shut up, Al,” Rose mutters, waving as Yann and Polly walk in and head to their seats. “You’re being dramatic.”</p><p>Albus goes to protest again, but then Scorpius appears at the door. Their eyes meet for a second; he sees Scorpius considering the vacant seat on Yann and Polly’s table, but then watches as he walks over to their table instead. He sets his bag on the desk and turns to Rose, all but ignoring any trace of Albus being present at the table.</p><p>“Morning, Rosie,” Scorpius says, flicking through the pages of his textbook until he arrives at his heavily annotated double page spread for Amortentia. “Bit of a weird choice of potion to visit again, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I suppose Professor G. realised our first attempts were abysmal, and that over half the class would fail if we didn’t go over it once more,” Rose chuckles. Scorpius does, too. Albus wants to throw himself off his stool. “But it also has me wondering whether this means Amortentia will be on our exam. I mean, the first lesson for Draught of Living Death was also shocking, but we haven’t gone over that one yet.”</p><p>Scorpius hums along. “That’s true,” he says. His voice is thick honey, sweet and endearing all at once. There’s a degree of stiffness, though, Albus can hear it in the back of his throat. “Oh, well. This happens to be my favourite potion, so I’m not complaining.”</p><p>Albus stares at him. Scorpius stares back, out of nowhere. Albus goes to say something, managing to muster up a sliver of a sarcastic comment to drop into the conversation, but then their Professor walks in, and Albus settles back into the uncomfortable silence that falls between the three of them.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Mint. Lavender. Sandalwood.</p><p>Albus is drowning in a cacophony of familiar scents, each only getting stronger with every ingredient he adds and every clockwise motion of his ladle he makes as he stirs the potion into existence. The mint stings his skin, the lavender sticks to the roof of his mouth. He breathes in gulps of sandalwood as if he’s drinking it shot by shot. His throat burns, his eyes water.</p><p>Albus’ grip on his ladle is deathly tight, his fingers a ghostly white as he stirs. He thinks that, perhaps, this exercise wouldn’t be so awful if it was only him making the potion; but, tragically, the entire class of fifteen students are all brewing this devilish potion, and Albus is, therefore, being prescribed fifteen deadly doses of Scorpius Malfoy. He could throw up, honestly.</p><p>“Albus,” Rose hisses from beside him, gently swatting his hand. “Your palm is bleeding.”</p><p>Albus blinks and lets his ladle balance against the rim of his cauldron. “Oh, shit,” he mutters, wiping the blood oozing from the crescent-shaped cuts decorating his palm onto his trousers. “I didn’t realise I was being that aggressive.”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Rose asks.</p><p>Albus stares at her. “Are you trying to win the prize for the most stupid question in the world, or something?”</p><p>“That’s a bit harsh, Albus.” Scorpius says from his side of the table.</p><p>Albus stares at him. “Nobody asked for your opinion, Scorpius.”</p><p>“<em>Al</em>,” Rose mutters, gently flicking his cheek as she presses some tissue to Albus’ palm. “Stop talking, for Merlin’s sake.”</p><p>The two of them – Albus and Scorpius, Scorpius and Albus – gaze at each other. It reminds Albus of times when they would bicker over the most pointless things, their petty utterances leading up to a staring competition where the first to look away would be the one to lose.</p><p>“What’s your potion smell like, Scorpius?” Albus asks.</p><p>And it’s a <em>horrible</em> question. He knows it the minute he says it. If the roles were reversed Albus would be seething at the inconsideration rooted deep in the words. Scorpius’ face falls to an expression of hurt for a millisecond, but he quickly regains composure and, to Albus’ surprise, smiles at him.</p><p>He watches as Scorpius grabs his own collar and smells his jumper, before doing the same to his wrists. “Weird,” he says, fanning his hand against his shirt. “When did you spill your potion on me?”</p><p>“<em>Scorp</em>,” Rose hisses, looking hopelessly between the two of them. “You’re both being so childish.”</p><p>Albus looks away. He accepts defeat, returning to his cauldron and his momentarily disregarded potion. He feels hurt, but then he feels guilt. After all, Albus thinks, he’s the one who started the stupid argument. He just doesn’t want to accept how this is likely the way things are going to be from now on; the two of them constantly bickering with each other, slipping spiteful comments into their conversations until everything between them is left abandoned in the past, and they move on, and they forget about each other. Albus doesn’t want that. But, like Scorpius said yesterday, Albus doesn’t have the right to make demands right now. He sowed the seeds in this garden of pain; it’s entirely his fault that he keeps pricking himself on rose thorns every day, since he’s the one who grew the flower.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“Our first game was incredible,” James is saying, his reflection in the mirror showing the face of a boy filled to the brim with pure joy. Lily shuffles about between Albus’ legs, and Albus stares absent-mindedly at the Quidditch pitch, eyes following the shadows of players who may or may not be Scorpius. “It felt so good to be back on a broom, you know? And I was surprisingly not scared. I thought I would be terrified, but no. It felt so natural.”</p><p>Lily smiles. “That’s amazing, Jamie,” she says, winking at him through the mirror. “Can’t wait for the summer holiday when the whole family can come to your games. It’ll be like when we used to watch mum as kids, except we’ll probably remember what happens this time.”</p><p>James laughs. “I know, right,” he says. “Hey, Al. You all good?”</p><p>Albus looks back to the mirror, dragging his eyes away from the silhouette he is almost sure belongs to Scorpius. “Hm?” He asks, idly plucking strands off grass from the courtyard gardens. “Yeah, I’m fine.”</p><p>“Are you? For definite?” James pushes.</p><p>“Jamie, be nice to him.” Lily murmurs, frowning as she looks at Albus over her shoulder.</p><p>“No, no. I am, Lils. He knows what I’m talking about.”</p><p>Albus sighs. “I’m o<em>kay</em>, James. No worse, no better.”</p><p>James nods. “Okay,” he says. “That’s all I needed to know.”</p><p>Albus settles back into his wistful watching of Quidditch practice as James and Lily continue their conversation about… whatever it is they were talking about beforehand. The only good thing to come out of this recent parting with Scorpius has been the plateauing of his nightmares; sure, they still occur nightly, and they aren’t overly pleasant, but they haven’t been getting <em>worse</em>. He’s still working up the nerve to confess to his parents the nature of their resurgence, but he hasn’t quite decided how to go about that yet.</p><p>Of course, not seeing Scorpius’ face every day, not feeling his breath on his cheek first thing every morning and not holding his hand on the walk down to breakfast, hurts a lot. But Albus thinks he’s slowly becoming numb to the pain; what was once a dulcet thrum in the pit of his stomach has become as familiar to him as the lines on his palm. It is more shocking for Albus when he feels happiness – when he laughs or smiles – than when he feels hurt.</p><p>Albus casts his eyes away from the Quidditch pitch; he watches a snail chugging along across the ground to an undefined destination, taking his time, working things out as he goes. When he comes to a twig nestled in the grass he slowly clambers over it. When he sees a rock he curves around the perimeter. One centimetre at a time, one second at a time.</p><p>⚡</p><p>“No, Rose,” Albus says, shrugging her off as she keeps trying to grab a hold of his hand as they walk from class to class. He tries to keep his voice low, desperate to not draw any more attention to himself than normal. “The last thing I want to do right now is go to a Gryffindor party.”</p><p>“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Rose insists, looping her arm through Albus’ own when she gets the chance. “It’s not a Gryffindor party. It’s Karl’s birthday party, so it’s technically a Hufflepuff party.”</p><p>“Okay,” Albus huffs. “The <em>second</em> last thing I want to do right now is go to a Hufflepuff party.”</p><p>Rose whines, pulling Albus into a small alcove off the hallway so he can’t escape. She stares at him, hazel meeting jade, and Albus knows there’s no way he’s getting out of this party. “Look, I get it. You’re grieving, you’re heartbroken, and all that jazz. But, not to sound super cliché, you need to take your mind off it.”</p><p>“Merlin, when did my life become some awful Muggle-esque reality show or chick flick?” Albus groans.</p><p>Rose grins. “Great,” she says, grabbing a quill from her pocket to write the details on Albus’ palm. “Dress code is optional, but you’ll probably be denied entry if you don’t comply. Also, it’d be great if you could bring some of that lemonade you and Scorp– I mean, that <em>you</em> always drink.”</p><p>Albus crosses his arms over his chest.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” Rose says, holding her hands up. “It’s just habit to say his name, too.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Rose frowns. “Chin up, Al,” she says, gently squeezing his cheeks. “I’ll see you at the party, then!”</p><p>And Rose skips off, her penmanship sticky on Albus’ palm. He blows on it a few times, wafting his hand in the air until the ink dries. Then he inhales, straightens up his posture, and walks back out into the bustling hallways to his next class.</p><p>⚡</p><p>And, so, that is how Albus finds himself at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room at the strike of eight on Saturday evening. He stares into the shield being held by a suit of armour next to the door, peering between the lines of inscription to fiddle with his hair and button, unbutton, then button up again the collar of his lemon yellow shirt.</p><p>(The charmed suit of armour huffs and adjusts position, taking away the shield and sending Albus three metres into the air as he jumps back from fright.)</p><p>Albus knocks on the barrel in the pattern Karl had taught him back in Fifth Year, grumbling as he crawls through the tunnel to the common room. A thumping bass gets louder and louder the closer to the room he crawls, and as he steps into the circular room, cactus and succulent plants charmed to levitate above him and bunting hung from window to window, Albus already knows this party is going to be a disaster.</p><p>“Albie!” Polly jumps on his back out of nowhere. Her sweet pea perfume – one Yann bought her for Valentine’s Day a few years ago – is thick and chokes Albus, her bare skin soft against his hands as he holds onto her legs to keep her from falling.</p><p>“Merlin, Pol,” Albus groans, stepping out the way of the entrance as someone barges in behind him. “Could’ve warned me before you did that.”</p><p>Polly kisses his cheek. “You <em>came</em>! We were convinced you were going to bail.”</p><p>“Polly, you weren’t meant to <em>tell</em> him that,” Yann sighs as he, Rose and Karl catch up to her, drinks in hand, yellow clothes bright under the dimmed lighting. “Hey, Al.”</p><p>“Good evening,” Albus says, handing Polly over to Yann when she begins to slip off his back. “Happy birthday, by the way, Karl. Your gift is in my bedroom, I figured it’d be best to give it to you when there weren’t a lot of drunk people in the common room.”</p><p>Karl winks at him. “Great choice,” he says, handing Albus a drink. “Cheers to me!”</p><p>Albus grins; the five of them lift their cups and tap them together, uttering an out of time <em>cheers!</em> before taking sips. “Wow,” Albus coughs, his eyes watering as he swallows. “What in Merlin’s name is this?”</p><p>“A bit of everything,” Yann says, swirling his drink around in his cup, twirling around with Polly on his back. “Rum, Butterbeer, whisky, lemonade.”</p><p>“Lemonade?”</p><p>“Scorpius brought some,” Rose says. “Which is good, since you clearly didn’t bring anything.”</p><p>Albus holds up his hand and shrugs. “Did you expect anything different? I’m the least reliable person on the entire planet, Rosie.”</p><p>“Good job I’m the complete opposite, then,” Albus looks over his shoulder as Scorpius joins the group. “I fixed the record player, by the way. Someone spilt their drink on it, I think, but it’s working again now.”</p><p>Karl grins and leans over to kiss Scorpius’ cheek. “You’re amazing.”</p><p>“Why, thank you.”</p><p>Albus wants to disappear. Wants to sink into the ground and never come back. Scorpius – all black skinny jeans and an old Hawaiian shirt coloured bright yellow with pineapples and Snitches making up the pattern – positively <em>glows</em> under the charmed fairy lights and borrowed disco ball from the Gryffindor common room. His eyes are bright, his hair is ruffled and curled at the ends, his ring – the one Albus bought him, which he hadn’t realised Scorpius still wore – catching the white light as he lifts his cup to his lips.</p><p>“I think,” Rose says, dragging Albus over the sleeve of his shirt. “That we should all go back and dance, because this is a party and I’m bored of standing still.”</p><p>Her demand is met with universal agreement, and the six of them shuffle between groups of students all lingering around the circular room to get to the centre. The brassy sofas and coffee tables have been pushed to the side, most fully occupied with teenagers doing <em>typical</em> teenage things, and the rug beneath has been charmed to change different colours, illuminating everyone’s faces with vibrant blues and yellows and magentas.</p><p>Albus lets go of Rose’s hand and instead holds onto Polly, the two of them and Yann forming some sort of ubiquitous trio garnering attention from every other person positioned on the makeshift dance floor. Albus kisses Polly’s cheeks, flicks Yann’s nose; he entirely lets himself melt into the melodic thrum of the party, his drink filling without him knowing, his shirt sticking to his chest as he sweats and dances and laughs and drinks.</p><p>At some point a cake appears, a simple two-tiered one decked top to bottom in glitter, a fondant topper model of Karl waving at everyone in the room positioned in the middle of the smallest layer. Candles sparkle while the room comes together to perform an atrociously off-key rendition of happy birthday. Karl beams as he blows out the candles, immediately blurting out his wish seconds later.</p><p>The six of them drink. They sing along to awful Muggle music and brilliant wizard bands. They chat with people they normally never socialise with. Someone compliments Albus’ shirt and he gives them a little spin, the motion greeted with a ripple of applause from spectators who, despite being heavily intoxicated, still manage to have one eye on Albus Potter at all times.</p><p>The events of the evening slot together like a masterpiece; Albus forgets about every single grievance that had swarmed in the base of his stomach mere hours before, instead feeling weightless and worriless as he glows in the presence of his dearly beloved. For a few fleeting hours he is transformed into a simple teenager, one who is celebrating his friend’s birthday and bathing in a fountain of joy and drink and music as if his life isn’t falling to pieces in every other regard. Albus feels, for the first time since Easter, genuinely happy.</p><p>He can’t see this evening going downhill; surely, Albus thinks, surely he is owed just one night of simplicity. One night where nothing goes wrong, where he hovers two centimetres above the ground, feeling like he belongs among the rambunctious youth he is surrounded by, like he is loved and appreciated. That’s all Albus wants, a few moments to <em>live</em>.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus doesn’t know how he has found himself in this position – back against the wall, Scorpius in front of him with an arm placed beside Albus’ shoulder, anchoring him in place – but he is positive that he shouldn’t be there. Thick alcohol mixed with peppermint mixed with lavender; Albus can hardly think straight.</p><p>“I’m really sorry for what I said in class the other day,” Scorpius leans close to whisper in Albus’ ear. Or, at least, it sounds like a whisper. He is probably shouting to be heard over the thumping bass. “It was a really not nice, awful, horrible thing.”</p><p>Albus shakes his head. The motion makes him dizzy; he puts his cup down on a table and scolds himself mentally for drinking so much. “I started it,” he answers, his hand somehow ending up on Scorpius’ chest. “You literally didn’t do a single thing wrong. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and had to be cruel, you had every right in the world to bite back.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scorpius agrees. His lips shimmer under the disco ball reflections, the glossy layer of residual alcohol sticking his lips together as he speaks. “It was kind of cruel.”</p><p>“No, it was <em>really</em> cruel. And very unnecessary of me.”</p><p>“I forgive you, though,” Scorpius shrugs. Albus blinks, and all of a sudden Scorpius is perfectly clear in front of him. “I’d forgive anything and everything you do.”</p><p>Albus scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re drunk.”</p><p>“So what if I am?”</p><p>“Drunk people say things they don’t mean.” Albus says, gently prodding Scorpius’ in the chest.</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. “That’s incorrect,” he protests. “Drunk people say things they are too afraid to say sober.”</p><p>“I respectfully disagree, since I’m sure you remember how the first time <em>you</em> ever got drunk you gave a whole speech about why the unregulated use of Felix Felicis will one day lead to the destruction of the Wizarding World,” Albus smiles, his fingers somehow finding their way to Scorpius’ neckline, tracing the curve of his collar, skirting the boundary between material and skin. “So, maybe some people say shit they’re too afraid to say sober when they’re drunk, but you definitely don’t fall into that category.”</p><p>“I hate you so much sometimes.” Scorpius says out of nowhere.</p><p>Albus blinks a couple of times. It’s as if the alcohol has been flushed from his system and he is suddenly completely sober, hanging onto every word Scorpius is saying. “Come again?”</p><p>“You heard me,” Scorpius sighs. He picks up a fresh red cup that floats by on a charmed silver plate, taking a long, long sip before continuing. “I look at you in the hallway or across the classroom and I just… <em>hate</em> you so much. I meant what I said in the common room the other day, you have completely destroyed me inside and out. It’s like you just decided to throw me off the back of a boat into stormy waters without a life jacket.”</p><p>“Scorpius–”</p><p>“<em>But</em>,” Scorpius interrupts Albus. They’re impossibly close; <em>too</em> close for two people who are supposed to be broken up, for two people who apparently hate each other at the moment. “I hate that I hate you. Because it doesn’t feel right. I get mad at myself when I think about how much I don’t like you right now, and then I get mad at you <em>again</em> for putting me in this shitty moral position to begin with.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Albus frowns. “Do you ever think you’ll stop being mad at me?”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I’m also quite drunk right now, so I don’t know half of what I’m saying.”</p><p>“I’m kinda drunk, too.” Albus admits.</p><p>Scorpius looks at him. “You never get drunk.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Scorpius nods and looks around the room, eyes taking in every single person before settling back on Albus, the only one he ever seems to be drawn to. The only one who captivates him, enchants him, keeps him hanging on for <em>something</em> even when there is nothing left to give.</p><p>“You brought bottles of our lemonade to this party.” Albus comments, not allowing himself to blink. He needs to be able to read Scorpius’ expression right now, needs to dissect the curve of his smile and the widening of his eyes.</p><p>Scorpius nods once more. “I did.”</p><p>“I thought that lemonade was <em>ours</em>?”</p><p>“Well,” Scorpius says, his voice slow and words deliberate. “It is ours, I brought it here in hopes you would turn up, so I could enjoy it in your company.”</p><p>Albus pauses. The room fills with electric, a burning and buzzing desire sitting behind his navel, drawing him closer to Scorpius, filling his mind with catastrophic ideas and cataclysmic intentions.</p><p>“I really want to kiss you right now.” Albus admits.</p><p>Scorpius puts his drink down next to Albus’ and shrugs. “Do it, then.”</p><p>And, so, he does.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus downs a vial of Cranium Draught. He presses his palms to his temples, praying that the thumps rocketing through his skull and making his eyes water will let up soon. It’s early – too early – and he has a cold piece of toast in front of him, a half empty goblet of orange juice in his hand. The morning sunshine filters in through the glass windows in the Great Hall, leaving curved spaces of gold on the hardwood tables. Benches screech as people come and go. Quiet laughter ricochets off the walls.</p><p>Rose appears in front of him, her eyes coloured with an expression Albus can’t quite read. She has her arms crossed over her chest, her cardigan sleeves pushed up to the bend in her elbow. “What the fuck, Albus.”</p><p>Albus blinks at her. “Um,” he says, groggy as ever. “Good morning to you, too?”</p><p>“You and Scorpius.”</p><p>Albus groans. “Oh, Merlin. No, <em>no</em>. It’s too early for this conversation.” He says, holding his hand up in hopes it’ll deter Rose from continuing to speak.</p><p>It doesn’t. “Albus, what on Earth were you thinking?” Rose continues, swatting his hand away so they can look at each other properly. “Do you realise how much of a dick move that was? You’re meant to be getting over each other, not getting <em>with</em> each other at a party.”</p><p>Albus rolls his eyes. “You’re being so dramatic,” he says. “If Scorpius had a problem, then he wouldn’t have said yes.”</p><p>“Wait – <em>no</em>. Did you two have–”</p><p>“Jesus <em>fucking</em> Merlin, no! Keep your voice down, Rose,” Albus hisses, throwing a spoon at her across the table. “No, we didn’t. Not that it’s any of your business if we did, anyway.”</p><p>“Why are you leading him on?”</p><p>Albus blinks a few more times. Someone sneezes from the other side of the Hall. “Why are you on my back about a drunken kiss at a party <em>you</em> peer pressured me into going to?”</p><p>“I’m on your back because it’s <em>me</em> and the rest of your friends who are going to be the ones to pick up the pieces when you hurt Scorpius <em>again</em> after he realises you didn’t mean to kiss him and you still don’t want to be with him,” Rose explains, her voice monotonous, as if she is lecturing him. “Look, none of us care that you broke up with him. It was your choice, nobody can change that. But what we <em>do</em> care about is making sure that you’re both okay, and just in case you still don’t understand: Scorpius is <em>not</em> okay right now. So you need to get your shit together, Albus, and either make an effort to apologise and be civil, or leave him alone completely.”</p><p>“Stop trying to dictate my life.”</p><p>“I’m not, Albus. I’m trying to make you see that you’re making some <em>horrible</em> choices,” Rose continues, helping herself to a fresh slice of toast. She sits silently for a few moments, spreading two thin layers of butter and jam over the crisp surface. “To you, last night was just a kiss, I’m assuming. Something that happened because you were drunk, and it’s just going to roll off your back like it’s no big deal. To <em>him</em>, it won’t have been that. It’ll be a possibility that you are going to backtrack on your choice of breaking up with him.”</p><p>“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Albus mutters. “Are you sure you’re not secretly a Potter? You’re definitely rivalling my dad for being the most dramatic family member right now.”</p><p>Rose groans, slamming her knife on the table. “Do you even realise how much Scorpius cares about you?”</p><p>“Do <em>you</em> even realise how much <em>I</em> care about Scorpius?” Albus asks, matching her aggravated tone.</p><p>Rose doesn’t answer.</p><p>“Exactly,” Albus says, downing the rest of his orange juice. “Look, it’s really nice that you’re being supportive and defending him. Because you’re right, I’ve been an awful person recently. I’ve made rash choices and bad decisions and have probably hurt a couple of people along the way, and I don’t feel good about it. But it’s like all of you – literally every single person in this whole school, every single person who knows me – has forgotten that I, too, was in that relationship for three years. Just because I ended it, doesn’t mean that I’m not hurting, too. And anyway, you haven’t even <em>tried</em> to understand why I did what I did, or how I’m <em>really</em> feeling about it. You, like everyone else, just jumped to the conclusion that I must be some evil human being who just wants to hurt Scorpius Malfoy.”</p><p>“Al, no–” Rose reaches across the table.</p><p>Albus stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ask me.”</p><p>“Ask you what?” Rose asks. She glances over behind Albus’ shoulder; Albus follows her gaze, both of them now looking at Scorpius as he walks into the hall.</p><p>“Ask me how I’m feeling.”</p><p>Rose frowns. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Really fucking sad. And really fucking tired, too, since I’ve been having hellish nightmares again since December that have meant I’ve been getting, on average, three hours sleep a night.” Albus says. “Thanks for caring.”</p><p>Albus picks up his jacket and walks out the hall. He delicately shoulders past Scorpius, his footsteps loud on the stone as he races back to his dormitory. As the door closes behind him, Albus grabs a piece of parchment and his quill. He sits on his bed, the plush covers as welcoming as a soft cloud, and he begins to write.</p><p>⚡</p><p>
  <em>Mum &amp; Dad,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This is something I would rather say to you in person, but I don’t have the nerve to do so. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I feel like I need to start seeing my Healer again. Maybe things have changed since my first set of sessions with her all those years ago, maybe there is something there that can help me? Because I need it. The nightmares are back – they have been since December. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, I just didn’t want to disappoint either of you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m the loneliest I’ve ever been, I think. I’m the saddest I’ve been in a very long time. I just need some help; and you’re the only two I trust to guide me to where I can find it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love you,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Albus.</em>
</p><p>⚡</p><p>
  <em>Albus,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You could never disappoint us, ever. You make us proud every day you wake, every day you live. We’ll make an appointment for next weekend; your dad and I can go with you, if you want. Anything that you need, we’ll do whatever it takes to help you heal. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You trust us, and we trust you. Grief is a lifelong process; it’s okay to take a step backwards every now and again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We love you to the edge of the Earth and back. Always,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mum &amp; Dad.</em>
</p><p>⚡</p><p>The rolled up cuffs of Albus’ jeans are covered in muddy water by the time he gets to the top of the Owlery, his exposed ankles chilled to the bone, his hair flat and damp against his forehead. He shivers as he steps inside, heading straight to Lily’s owl – a caramel Tawny named Desdemona after her favourite Shakespeare character, for whatever reason – in the back corner.</p><p>“Ouch, <em>Merlin</em>,” Albus mutters as the owl nips at his finger, sucking on the cut as he stares at her. “You really don’t like me, do you?”</p><p>Desdemona blinks. Then hoots.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a no,” he continues, trying once more to tie the parcel containing James’ birthday present to her claw. He holds out the letter to his parents, too, and Desdemona looks at it a couple of times before accepting it into her beak. “Thank you. It’d be great if you could get there as soon as pos–”</p><p>Desdemona takes off before Albus has time to finish his sentence.</p><p>He stares out the open window, watching her tilt this way and that way, disappearing into the early morning sunrise. “Good talk,” Albus murmurs to nobody, spinning on his heel to leave. He makes it to the doorway when someone turns the corner and bumps into him. “Oh fucking <em>Merlin</em>, why were you hiding there, Scorpius?”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs, holding two glass bottles of lemonade in his hands. “Sorry!”</p><p>“Did you follow me up here, or something?”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Scorpius says, sidestepping past Albus to get out of the rain and into temporarily dry shelter. “That’s precisely what I did.”</p><p>Albus blinks a couple of times, taking one of the bottles offered to him. The rain hammers on the stone floor outside, their bottles quietly <em>fizz</em> as they pop them open. Albus leans against the wall, Scorpius perches on a ledge.</p><p>“I overheard a bit of your conversation with Rose at breakfast,” Scorpius says. “You know, last week.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I didn’t reveal any ground breaking information that you didn’t already know of,” Albus responds, staring into his glass of lemonade. He loves this brand of lemonade – <em>their</em> lemonade, the brand they used to buy for dates and picnics. Slightly tangy, a bitter aftertaste, but shockingly refreshing. It hangs around on your tongue, everything you eat or drink afterwards adopting a lemony coating. “So, it’s no big deal that you heard.”</p><p>Scorpius shrugs. “I know, it’s not what you said that I want to talk about.”</p><p>Albus looks up at him. “Oh,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “What is it, then?”</p><p>“What <em>she</em> said. Rose,” Scorpius says. “The whole bit about you leading me on and me not being okay and her and our friends needing to be there to pick up the pieces.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to lead you on.”</p><p>Scorpius shakes his head. “You <em>weren’t</em>,” he says. “That’s what I need to talk to you about. I’m not going to waste my energy going off about how I’m feeling, because I’m pretty sure I’ve made that abundantly clear since we got back to school. And I’m also pretty sure you know I’m not some fragile kid who can’t handle a little heartbreak, so I’m not sure why Rose is going around making it out like I’m utterly inconsolable every second of the day.”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Albus murmurs, watching as a couple more owls fly through the window, settling on their perches and ruffling out their wings. “That’s the one thing that was confusing me. You’re not, like… <em>open</em> about your feelings to everybody. You never have been, so I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact she seemed to be suggesting to me that you were sobbing between lessons. Polly told me you were doing sort of okay, when I asked her.”</p><p>“Course not, I save my sobbing for when I’m alone in the dorm.”</p><p>Albus frowns. “Scorpius…”</p><p>“I’m kidding,” Scorpius smiles. They look at each other. “Okay, I’m not kidding. But you’re right. I’m <em>not</em> going around being all sad in person; in fact, I only talk about it when someone like Rose or Karl asks me how I am. But that’s beside the point.”</p><p>“What’s the point then?” Albus asks.</p><p>Scorpius swings his legs, his tiptoes scraping the cobbled floor every so often. “The point is that I feel awful knowing people are making you feel guilty about what happened. That you’ve been singled out, and instead of people asking how you’re doing, they’re loading you with more baggage, putting ideas into your head that you’ve ruined me, or something. It’s not fair.”</p><p>“It’s definitely not.”</p><p>“But none of this is fair,” Scorpius continues. “The whole thing sucks.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>They fall silent, drinking their lemonade, watching the owls fuss their feathers and peck at the food left out for them by students. The rain trickles down the rocks, bouncing off the floor, melting over individual stones laid on the ground. A rumble of thunder shudders from somewhere in the faraway distance; Albus pulls his coat tighter around his chest.</p><p>“I had a meeting with my Healer a few days ago.”</p><p>Scorpius looks at him. “Did you?” His voice is soft, airy. Any trace of anguish or agitation has been cleaned away, leaving only a shining surface of pure delight.</p><p>Albus nods, downing the remainder of his lemonade. “It was terrifying, honestly,” he chuckles. He pushes himself off the wall and steps over to the ledge where Scorpius sits. “I told my parents about the nightmares, and everything, and we managed to figure out a fortnightly schedule for me seeing the Healer. She asked about you, of course.”</p><p>“What did you say?” Scorpius asks, their shadows stretching far in front of them, their eyes glued to anything except each other.</p><p>“Well, if you want me to be honest, I said I’ve been having a really hard time thinking about you lately because I’m either reliving the memories of you being tortured or I’m remembering when I hadn’t broken up with you and things were relatively good in our lives.” Albus says.</p><p>He senses Scorpius frown beside him. “Things are pretty messed up right now, huh?”</p><p>Albus chuckles. “You could say that, yeah.”</p><p>“But, I mean, has it helped?” Scorpius asks again. “Like, breaking up with me, seeing your Healer? Has it helped?”</p><p>Albus turns to look at him. Scorpius looks back, lost and hopeful, all at once. “Yeah,” Albus says, his voice shockingly soft and gentle. The words feel easy, his sentences form effortlessly and land in the conversation without an ounce of tension or resentment. “I guess it has.”</p><p>“Well, that’s good,” Scorpius smiles. “I’m glad you’re happy. Or, somewhere close to happy.”</p><p>“Somewhere close to happy,” Albus repeats. The two of them stare out the open door to the Owlery, watching the current in the Lake, watching the trees on the boundary of the Forest rustle in the delicate breeze. Everything is tranquil, the rain clouds passing to open up the ground to golden rays and bright blue skies. “That’s a great way to describe it.”</p><p>⚡</p><p>The next few months go like this.</p><p>Albus and Scorpius find themselves hovering on the edge of the same social circles, somewhat more comfortable with each other but never completely bridging the gap back to friendship. They sit at opposite ends of every table, coming and going more frequently than ever before as a way to be apart when things get a little too suffocating in each other’s presence.</p><p>Albus attends his meetings with his Healer, gradually tying together the loose ends of his frayed emotional state, weaving together a somewhat clearer picture of his trauma and a route to make things better. He writes daily to his parents; he begins to keep a dream journal, noting down the amount of hours he thinks he managed to sleep and any details of any nightmares he may be having. His Healer is able to refer him temporarily to a Muggle doctor who prescribes him medication to help with his anxiety (and Albus writes a note on a piece of parchment with the name of the doctor which he leaves on Scorpius’ pillow one morning). His nightmares decrease in quantity but seem to raise in quality sometimes; the pictures in his mind are refined dreamscapes of the pitch, the faces, the colours. He’s doing okay, though.</p><p>The group sit their NEWT exams, walking out the Hall every day with writer’s bumps swelling on their fingers. They crane their necks over textbooks, throats hoarse from late nights spent whispering theory and incantation pronunciations over and over again in preparation for a practical exam. Albus wakes up every day to an ink smear on his cheek, a headache brewing in his temples. He cries several times – once by himself in the boy’s restroom when nobody is around and another time in the arms of Rose who spots him by himself in the courtyard – and his friends sometimes cry, too.</p><p>People stop looking at him in the hallway, and as far as he is aware his relationship with Scorpius has come and gone from the Hogwarts gossip circle. He manages to sit in the library without people whispering behind their hands and sit at the breakfast table free of any interrogative questions from people he doesn’t know; Albus pretends it’s because they’ve lost interest and not because they don’t have the time to do so because of exams.</p><p>Albus misses Scorpius; he misses the casual intimacy he had grown used to, the gentle compassion they shared when they would look out for each other in the most simple of ways. He sometimes finds himself in the bathroom, realising he’s been walking around all day with his tie askew or his shirt buttoned incorrectly, and spends a few cathartic moments thinking about how Scorpius would’ve fixed the flaws for him before he even left the dormitory. Albus yearns for the stolen kisses between classes as they pass each other in the hallway, the fleeting moments in potions when Scorpius would come to his side of the table and help cut his ingredients for him. Now that his nightmares fall on irregular days he finds himself with more free time to remember how much happier his life had been the last few years, with a hand to hold and a cheek to kiss.</p><p>Albus manages to attend the last two games of the Quidditch season; he stands alongside Yann and Polly and Lily for both of them, wrapped up tight in his Slytherin scarf and cheering as vibrantly as he can given the circumstances. He watches Scorpius score a few goals (perhaps he cheers a little louder during those times), and he is filled with joy at the revelation that Slytherin win the cup following Gryffindor’s defeat to Ravenclaw at the end of May. He makes it through the matches relatively unscathed, though his stomach still fills with immense grief and guilt when he walks away with the floods of students following the final whistle; all he can think of is how Craig never had the chance to leave.</p><p>They all pass their exams; Albus hears through the grapevine that Scorpius passes with flying colours, challenging Hermione for the best grade sheet of any Hogwarts students. He achieves the highest grade seen in Potions for over fifty years, and because of that merit is offered a place as a beginner Potioneer for the firm who provide all regular prescriptions to St Mungo’s; so, although the Healer interview fell through, he still is able find himself at the beginning of a career that will give him what he has always wanted: the ability to <em>help</em> people. Albus manages to be accepted as an apprentice to a wandmaker in the Brighton area – with a shop on the shore and a glorious workshop overlooking the narrow roads and block coloured houses – with the grades he gets, and as he tells his news to his group of friends he sees Scorpius smile in the background. The six of them ebb and flow through discussions of the future, through half-heartedly made plans to meet up every month or so in the Leaky Cauldron to catch up before life twists them into busy workers with not a single minute of free time.</p><p>The only moment that truly sticks in Albus’ mind, the one he can recount detail for detail among a mosaic of blurred memories combining the last few months of his life, is the one when Scorpius grabs him by the sleeve when he leaves the Great Hall the day before their Leaving Feast. Albus finds himself tugged to the side, tucked between two suits of armour, the tidal wave of students walking past them as if they are invisible.</p><p>“I’m very proud of you,” Scorpius says, his eyes glued to Albus’, his hands crossed behind his back. “I just needed you to know that.”</p><p>Albus smiles at him. He remembers the freckles on Scorpius’ cheek, the cut above his eyebrow from yet another Quidditch injury. The crease in his collar, the perfectly symmetrical knot of his tie. “Thank you,” he says. “It means a lot, coming from you.”</p><p>The next few months went like that; a curation of Albus’ highest and lowest moments, tears shed over everything and smiles elicited from awful jokes his friends told late in the evening before curfew. A picture perfect screenshot capturing, in one single frame, his entire schooling experience. Fleeting moments of joy sandwiched between shattering fragments of utter desolation.</p><p>Albus thinks he finishes his life at Hogwarts much the same way he started it. Bursting with a wistful optimism at what the future holds, though cautiously holding onto a thread of cynicism that grounds him, reminding him that though things might be rough, but he should be okay. He’s very much still the starry-eyed, nervous boy he was when he first stepped onto the platform all those years ago, except now, thanks to the unsurmountable physical and mental scars he has plaguing his mind, he is startlingly aware of the dangers life can hold.</p><p>But then he thinks of the joyful times; the jokes with his friends, the picnics in Hogsmeade, the late night Exploding Snap games on the staircase outside the Gryffindor common room. He thinks of Scorpius’ face, the gentle touches they shared and the capacity of love Albus discovered he had available in his heart. Albus thinks of it all, and he realises that life will <em>always</em> be entrapped with dangers, but he will <em>always</em> be able to overcome them. Because he is Albus Potter, and he knows that he will be okay.</p><p>⚡</p><p>Albus sits alone in his compartment.</p><p>His friends had insisted he join them up front, sharing bottles of Butterbeer and celebrating their graduation with sweets and memories and jokes. Albus had refused, though, saying he really needed to be alone for a little while. Perhaps he’ll join them later, he had said, and they all gave him sad looks as he walked down the length of the train to an empty compartment he could use himself.</p><p>Albus stares out the window, watching as Hogsmeade station fades from view for what is the last time. Watching Hogwarts recede into a simple spec in the distance. He hurtles away from stability, the place where he became <em>himself</em>. The place where he made questionable choices, incredible choices, and choices that will haunt him for the rest of his life.</p><p>“<em>Ahem</em>,” Albus looks to the door; he looks at Scorpius. “Hey. Can I come in? I have lemonade.” He points a bottle of lemonade at the bunch opposite Albus.</p><p>Albus sits up straight, taking the bottle from Scorpius. “Hey. Of course, it’s free,” he says. Scorpius nods, crossing his legs as he sits down and stares at the floor. “I thought you were going to be with Rose and Polly, and all that?”</p><p>Scorpius shakes his head, scratching his cupid’s bow. “No,” he shrugs. “I didn’t really feel like it. I’ve never been the kind to sit in a big group and make a lot of noise on public transport, and anyway, I quite like the peacefulness of this specific train journey.”</p><p>Albus nods, taking a sip from his drink. He isn’t sure where they stand at the moment; after all, how could he? They seem to be two planets orbiting the same sun, colliding in triumphant times and feeling light years apart at others. Their relationship – both platonic and romantic – has surmounted an indescribable amount of chaos and turmoil over the seven years of knowing each other. Their connection is impossible to define; Albus finds himself hanging on to every single movement Scorpius makes even after so much time has passed.</p><p>“Scorpius,” he says. Scorpius looks at him. “I’m really sorry.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t, Al–”</p><p>“No, seriously,” Albus says, leaning forwards ever so slightly. “This isn’t me sitting here saying I’m sorry because I regret what’s happened, or because I’m shouldering the blame for everything and am feeling sorry for myself. This is me genuinely saying I’m <em>so</em> sorry for ever hurting you. I never would’ve thought I’d have to make decisions that caused you pain, and it hurts me knowing I’m hurting <em>you</em>. I’m just so incredibly sorry that things are shitty right now, and that I put you in this awful, lonely position at such a difficult time. I know things will probably never, ever be the same between us – because, like you said, how can they? – but I just really hope you know that I love you, and I always will, and I will always be sorry for what has happened.”</p><p>The corner of Scorpius’ mouth twitches into a small smile. “I forgive you, Albus,” he says, finally. “I understand why you did it, I really do. At first I thought you were crazy, because sometimes you make snap decisions that don’t… always work out, you know?”</p><p>Albus chuckles. “I know.”</p><p>Scorpius’ smile widens. “Exactly. And I was, like, devastated, too. But I get it now,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “At first I wanted to insist that you were wrong, and make you see that we didn’t have to be apart to work through everything. That this was something we should do together because it’s only <em>us</em> who get it. But that’s exactly <em>why</em> we need to do it separately. How are either of us meant to really help each other when we have the same view point?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Albus nods. “There was just… too much noise in my head at one point. I was so deafened by my own problems I couldn’t hear you asking for help.”</p><p>Scorpius nods, tilting his head to the side. “That was very philosophical of you.”</p><p>Albus laughs. “You sounds surprised.”</p><p>“I’ve missed you, Al,” Scorpius says out of nowhere. “I know I said that night that if you don’t want me as your boyfriend you can’t have me as a friend. But I was wrong. I was just so hurt that I wanted to hurt you, too. Which I know is <em>awful</em>–”</p><p>“It’s fine, Scorpius,” Albus insists. “Honestly. I get why you said it.”</p><p>“So, yeah. I was wrong. The most important thing I’ve learned over the last few months is that you and I… we aren’t meant to be apart,” Scorpius continues after pausing to take a drink. “The stuff we’ve gone through together, Al… there’s no way two people can experience all that and <em>not</em> be friends for life.”</p><p>Albus smiles. He sighs under his breath, and feels the weight of regret lifting off his shoulders and fading away. “I agree.”</p><p>“I’m going to be honest with you,” Scorpius says. He fiddles with his fingers; Albus holds his breath. “I don’t think there’s ever going to be a version of myself that isn’t mind-numbingly in love with you. So I can’t sit here and say that working out this friendship is going to be easy, because you are, and always will be, the person who saved me when I was drowning in <em>life</em>. But I know, also, that I can’t be without you.”</p><p>The trolley witch shuffles past. She tosses in a couple of pumpkin pasties and smiles as she moves on. The two of them pause their conversation to eat the treats and drink their lemonade, Albus staring out at the landscape as the train crosses over the viaduct.</p><p>Albus clears his throat, his fingers working the napkin into an origami crane. “I also don’t think there’s ever going to be a version of myself that isn’t mind-numbingly in love with you, either” he says. “But I also know I can’t feasibly live my life without you. So if I have to work through three years of trauma as well as working through these weird feelings we’ll always have for each other, then it’s something I’m willing to do.”</p><p>“Who knows, maybe in the future things will work out how we thought they would originally?” Scorpius ponders, one shoulder shrugging. “Maybe this just wasn’t our time. Right person, wrong time.”</p><p>“I like that,” Albus smiles. “Right person, wrong time. In a few years or so it could be different.”</p><p>“It will be.”</p><p>Albus nods. “It will be.”</p><p>Scorpius stands up all of a sudden, empty bottle on the floor, holding his hand out. “Friends?”</p><p>Albus smiles, hastily wiping away a few tears he hadn’t realised hung in his waterline. “Friends, <em>always</em>.” He says, disregarding Scorpius’ hand to hug him tightly instead.</p><p>And, somehow, despite it all, everything feels okay. As he holds so tightly onto Scorpius, Albus wonders what will have to happen to tear them apart. He thinks, deep down, that they are always going to be two long strands of <em>life</em> twisted together in a helix. A single DNA. A candle and a match. Albus isn’t sure quite when he surrendered half his heart to Scorpius, but he knows he is never going to get it back. And it hurts sometimes, of <em>course</em> it does, but Albus knows now that the pain will, eventually, subside. That the clouds will clear, and he will step into a beautiful, shining glaze of sunlight. And despite it all – all the tragedy and death and pain and tears – Scorpius will be walking alongside him.</p><p>Albus Potter still has the extraordinary misfortune of being helplessly in love with Scorpius Malfoy, but he wouldn’t change any of it for the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you again to the mods for organising! this was something very different for me, but i thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and i hope you enjoyed reading it, too :)</p><p>tumblr: dustyspines</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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